


Understood

by Miratete



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dating, Drinking, Multi, Prostitution, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, hard times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-30 18:29:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 63
Words: 50,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13957449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miratete/pseuds/Miratete
Summary: -o-o-o-o-o-Swerve and Tailgate, down on their luck after their city was destroyed in a battle, are scraping out a living as streetwalkers in Kaon.  But there might be some improvement in their situation when a Decepticon officer with a thing for minibots takes a liking to Tailgate.-o-o-o-o-o-Chapter 63 posted!  Swindle does at least provide some services for the whores working in his basement.-o-o-o-o-o-





	1. Chapter 1

Cyclonus looked over the assortment of mechs and femmes hanging about outside of the taverns of Overdock's notorious Seventh Cycle Street. Some leaned up against the walls. Some parked their afts on the guard rails. Others hung in the entryways of the cheap hotels above the taverns. It was a quiet night four days before the paymasters doled out wages, so there would be plenty of selection.

A few, familiar with the fright-faced purple warrior, smiled and beckoned surreptitiously, and Cyclonus smiled back. Being a known client of their sort gave him a little more bargaining power. Not that he needed to bargain. Megatron paid well enough. So well that Cyclonus really should have been frequenting the luxury brothels that catered to the officers and upper echelons of Kaonian society.

But he hated the mechs and femmes that worked at those places—fancy, overpaid things that expected to be treated like nobility and presented with gifts in exchange for even just speaking with them in their plush palaces. True, they were beautiful and damage free and could hold a conversation. But somehow he preferred the streetwalkers that crawled the seedier regions of Kaon—unpretentious, unassuming beings that were just trying to make a living through the hardships brought on by the long war. Most were refugees. Some were mentally or physically broken. Others were just lost in the chaos of life.

The saying that it was lonely at the top had proved true, and the higher he'd risen in the Decepticon ranks the lonelier it seemed to have gotten, every promotion and every advancement setting him a little further apart from his fellow soldiers. He came down to the Overdock district twice or thrice an orn to relax. Here he could always find someone to drink with and someone to 'face—mechs and femmes who didn't care a thing about his rank as long as he was buying. Their concern was his money. So what if he had to pay for attention? So what if his companions were only in it for the credits he offered in exchange for their time? At least everyone understood. 

Outside of the Old Kaon Tavern he spied a cluster of minibots seated on the railing, a couple of which he'd never seen before, the four sharing a cube of cheap high-grade. But their purpose for being there was clear from the twist of black wires wrapped around each's upper left arm. Somehow this token had become the sign of a prostitute in Kaon long ago, well before the war had begun.

Cyclonus hated to admit that he had a thing for minibots, but of course he noticed them more than the other mechs selling themselves. Intrigued, he strolled over and smiled as the four looked up at his approach. “Hey... looking for a little bit of fun?” asked the pink and black one, a femme he knew he'd bedded at least once before if not twice. She familiarly wrapped her arms around his waist. For most, it would have been too brazen to touch him so openly. Minibots could get away with it.

“Better take two of us,” said the dark blue mech next to her, yellow bio-lights flaring attractively. “We're small.” He put one arm across the femme's shoulders indicating they could be had as a team.

“Perhaps,” he said, looking at the blue and white and the red and white minibots he did not recognize. “I've not seen you two around here before.”

“We're new to Kaon,” said the red and white mech, his companion drawing somewhat behind him. “Nice and fresh if you're looking for something a bit different,” he said enthusiastically, his blue visor glinting. “And you can have us as a pair, too,” he said, not wanting to be outdone by the other two.

Intrigued, Cyclonus leaned to the side to look at the other. “Let me see your face,” he ordered of the white and blue one.

Shyly, the minibot he'd addressed turned his head away. “It's not that pretty,” the small thing said, his words trailing off.

The red and white one gasped and chided the other. “Tailgate! Don't ruin this for us. Show it to him for Primus-sakes!”

“But... but...”

Cyclonus chuckled and straightened up. “Yeah. Most of the Autobot spies don't like to show their faces.” He turned to the other pair. “You two have three cycles to spare?”

The dark blue mech squeaked delightedly, and the pink and black femme one talked business with an encouraging smile. “Of course. Four hundred for each of us for the first cycle and three hundred for each additional cycle. An additional hundred and fifty credits if you wish to use our berth.”

Cyclonus chuckled again. “I'll hire you both, but no thank you to trying to frag you two on a minibot's bed. I'll rent a room.”

The red and white mech let out a deep whimper, which did not go unnoticed, for the tall purple mech turned and gave him a fixing glare. “Tell your friend to loosen up a little or he's going to have a hard time working like this.”

“I'm sorry, sir,” the red and white mech apologized. “He's very new. We're very new.”

The Decepticon smiled a rather intimidating smile, and it only made the blue and white mech bury his face in his companion's plating. “Then maybe next time.” He turned back to the other two. “Well? Ready?”

“Of course, big guy,” grinned the femme, wrapping her arms again around his waist.

Swerve watched disgustedly as the trio walked off and into one of the hotel entrances, a happily giggling minibot on each arm. And then he turned on Tailgate, glaring hard.

“I'm... I'm sorry Swerve. I-I just got a b-bit nervous there because he l-looked pretty scary,” Tailgate stuttered before the other mech could open his mouth.

“You just lost us two thousand credits!!” Swerve blurted. “All you had to do was pull back that mask and show him those pretty lips of yours!” Angrily he crossed his arms over his chest. “We can't be fussy about who we work for. You know that. We talked about it. Once he had us in bed you could have kept your optics off!” He ended with a huff and then grabbed what remained of the cube of high-grade and downed it quickly.

“He might have hired us,” Tailgate said softly, trying to downplay the situation. “We don't know for sure.”

“Might have. But no, he certainly wasn't going to once you got all spooked on him.”

Tailgate let out a huge sigh. “I'm sorry Swerve.”

“That would have been half a month's rent in one night,” Swerve moped. “And a hotel room. We could have had a nice hot bath afterwards instead of that disgusting cubicle our landlord calls a washrack.”

“There will be others,” Tailgate said, trying to placate his friend. “We know there will.”

“Sure... there will be others. But it's four days until the army gets paid.”

“It's only four days. We'll be fine, Swerve.”

“We'll be hungry.”

Tailgate sighed. “I know.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Understood” continues in Chapter 2

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Transformers and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of Hasbro and Takara Tomy. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.


	2. Chapter 2

Tailgate watched Swerve across the street with Gamma and Hot Zone, the three talking to the musician who'd brought his electro-harp to play on Seventh Cycle Street for odd change. The night was the first nice one after an unusual few days of heavy rain, and people seemed to be filtering into the district for drinks and carousing despite the mid-decacycle timing.

A group of Puppycons wandered past, already well fueled on what the taverns offered, and were drawn to the musician's post beneath the streetlight, a few of them dancing and one grabbing Gamma for such. Puppycons were a staple of those that came to Overdock for a bit of escape—excited by their new lives as Decepticons, thrilled with the hiring bonus in their pockets, proud of the fresh purple brand upon their chest, titillated by the pleasures Kaon offered. Their sergeants would usually lecture them about not getting too inebriated, keeping a close eye on their money, how to conduct a transaction with a prostitute, and staying out of dark alleys, and then point them in the direction of the right mass-transport train to get to and from Seventh Cycle Street.

“Hi,” said the smallish grounder lightly. He leaned in and gestured at the bundle of black wires around Tailgate's arm. “Are you available?” He smelled of cheap oil and slightly better highgrade.

“I am,” answered Tailgate, stretching up his arms and trying to look effortlessly graceful while showing himself off. Femmes made the move easily while it was a challenge for most mechs. “I could be yours for a while if you like what you see,” he said, hoping the phrase sounded sexy. He felt sexy. He and Swerve had spent most of the afternoon touching up their paint and polishing themselves.

“I've only got five hundred credits left. I don't know if that's enough.”

“That's enough for a cycle of my time and a hotel room.” Tailgate turned his gaze to the hotel tower that was the Overlock Lodger. It was one of the cheapest places to get a berth. “Want to go have a little fun with a fun little mech in the Lodger there?”

The dull red Puppycon nodded. “We could?”

“Sure.”

He looked back at his group for a moment and then at the Overdock Lodger. “There?”

“Yep.” Tailgate took his arm and led him toward the entrance. ::Hey Swerve, I've got one. Good luck with getting one for yourself.::

::Have fun. Be safe.::

::Always.:: Tailgate sent back.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Understood” continues in Chapter 3

-o-o-o-o-o-


	3. Chapter 3

“There he is! That big scary purple guy again!” Tailgate squeaked.

“If he asks, show him your face, and don't you dare spook again. If you do, I'm leaving you. I can always find another partner.”

“I know, I know,” Tailgate assured him. “We've been through this. Gamma and Hot Zone even said he was okay.”

Swerve was turning himself casually to catch the streetlight, his red and white color scheme being unusual around these parts and something of a draw. And sure enough the tall purple Decepticon noticed and approached. “Hey there,” Swerve greeted. "Looking for some minibot action?”

The Decepticon officer suddenly recognized the pair from a deca-cycle before. “Oh, it's you two,” he said flatly, his smile falling. “Your friend wouldn't show me his face.” And then he rumbled a laugh. “Either ugly or an Autobot.”

“I'm not ugly,” Tailgate protested and immediately stepped forward and dropped his mask. “See? And I'm not an Autobot either.”

Swerve smiled. This was going much better.

“Over your shyness I see,” said the purple mech, finding that the small thing certainly wasn't ugly. He wasn't even plain. The Decepticon reached down, placed a single clawed digit under the mech's chin, and lifted it into the streetlight's glow. Illuminated, he found the faceplate smooth and clean and actually rather pretty. The lip components on their own were a work of art in fact.

Tailgate forced himself to smile, doing his best to remain calm, constantly reminding himself that Gamma and Hot Zone had described the dark Decepticon as 'more gentle than you'd expect.'

And it obviously pleased the purple mech. “I'll take you, just for a cycle.”

“Thank you,” Tailgate said, remembering that he could off-line his optics to the frightening face.

“Both of us?” asked Swerve hopefully.

“Not tonight. I'm tired,” he said.

Both minibots made something of a sad little noise, which the Decepticon ignored. “Come along,” he said, taking Tailgate's hand and leading him toward the blinking and beckoning lights of a hotel entrance, one of the many that offered rooms in two cycle blocks. Tailgate looked back over his shoulder at Swerve, who was looking somewhat disappointed that Tailgate had been chosen over him. ::You can have half of the money. I don't mind,:: the blue and white mech sent. 

The purple flier herded the minibot into the hotel lobby, slipped a credit chip into one of the room choice slots, pushed a few buttons, and then took the door key that appeared. Then it was into an elevator and up to their room. Inside, Tailgate gasped at the berth. “Ooh! Look at that! It looks so comfortable!” He put his hands on the padding and pushed against it lightly, the mattress dipping and springing beneath his touch. “Ooh it is comfortable! I've never been on a berth this nice!”

“It had better be comfortable. I'm going to recharge after this,” growled the big mech.

“You are tired, I guess,” answered Tailgate, and he hopped up onto the berth, going for the pillows and finding them as wonderfully soft and pliable as they looked. “Oh! You'll probably fall right asleep if you put your head on one of these.” Tailgate lay down testing the pillow. It was as soft as it looked and smelled clean. Most mechs got a bare-bones room to conduct business in—a berth with a thin pad, a desk, and a water tap in an alcove to clean up with. Besides the nicer dressings on the bed, this room had a window, a rug, a full washrack, and a mirror.

The big purple mech chuckled. “I will after a couple of overloads.”

Tailgate put on a smile and rolled onto his side to face his employer, now standing beside of the bed. “Anything special you want?” He ran a hand in one slow, languid stroke over his hip and thighplates.

The Decepticon smiled, his face looking even more sinister as he did so. “Yes there is...”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Later, when Tailgate returned, Swerve checked him over, finding him fresh from a shower and not at all damaged. “Was he reasonable with you?”

“He was,” Tailgate answered. “Gamma was right.”

“You're nice and clean.”

“The room he got at the Turning Light had a big washrack with a steamer unit and a really soft berth too! I think it was the nicest berth I've ever been in! He gave me a few scratches with those claws of his, but I won't need any repairs or repainting. And here...” He pushed five one hundred credit chips into Swerve's hand. “He gave me an extra 100 credits afterwards because he said he liked the way I moaned.”

“That was nice of him,” answered Swerve, staring at the money. It had been a lucky break for them.

“Yes. And I did my best not to be scared.”

Swerve smiled at this, and then kissed his partner on the forehead. “I'm sorry this is our life now, but at least we're not dead or empty.”

“It's not awful,” said Tailgate.

“No. It's not.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Understood” continues in Chapter 4

-o-o-o-o-o-


	4. Chapter 4

It was a busy evening—payday for the Decepticon army—when credits flowed into the accounts and out again into Overdock. Hundreds if not thousands of off-duty Decepticons headed into the district to spend their earnings on cheap oil, high-grade, and whores. Tailgate came staggering out of the Swinging Gate hotel, his whole frame sore after three engagements in the past four cycles. But if he could keep up the pace, he'd have two or three more before the night was over.

Immediately he was called to by a couple of tall, tough-looking mechs, both of the same frame-type, red optics blazing with lust and the effects of high-grade. “Hey cutie! You free?”

It was like this every payday—plenty of credits and not quite enough prostitutes to go around. Why didn't they ever wait an orn when they could have their choice at almost half the price?

“I'm free for six-hundred credits,” smiled Tailgate, using one of Swerve's lines. He leaned against the wall, looking uninterested in actually servicing either of the two. It was all part of the game. Tease just a little to make them want you all the more...

“Six hundred's a good deal, sweetie,” said the red one, stepping up and running a hand over Tailgate's white armor, somewhat besmirched with green and grey streaks from earlier business.

“That's for just one of you,” he replied, expecting what their thoughts were. “It'll be twelve-hundred for the both of you.”

“Twelve-hundred? You're a mini-bot,” scoffed the grey one.

“Minibots are special...and extra-tight,” Tailgate answered, having expected a protest.

“Eight hundred for the both of us,” said the red one. “We're special too.”

“Megatron's elite forces? I thought so. Well I could go one thousand for one cycle.”

“We could go elsewhere,” said the grey one, looking about the street to see if a little competition would get them a better deal.

“You could.” Tailgate stretched his arms over his head and retracted his mask. He hated to, but Swerve was right. He was pretty. Sometimes that little flash of his lips and jaw was enough to seal a deal with a potential client. And this time it worked.

“Would you take just me for five hundred?” asked the red one.

“Mmmm...” Tailgate pretended to debate, his glossa sliding over his newly revealed lip components. They were beautiful lips, plump and ready to welcome things into his mouth.

“One thousand. We'll give you one thousand for both of us,” said the red one, suddenly overwhelmed with desire.

“All right,” sighed Tailgate, acting as if he were making some great concession.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Understood” continues in Chapter 5

-o-o-o-o-o-


	5. Chapter 5

Tailgate sat in the tavern below the Swinging Gate. He'd spent a lot of time in various rooms above that night. But dawn was breaking and most of Megatron's elite had staggered home, tanks full of high-grade and lusts sated. Swerve joined him, exhausted as expected, and flopped his helm forward onto the table. “How did you do?”

Swerve moaned. “Four thousand.”

Tailgate's visor brightened. “Four?! You beat me! I got thirty-five.”

The red and white mech's lips curved into a smile. “That's really good, as long as we don't have to spend much of it on repairs.” He straightened up and waved in the direction of the bar.

“I think I'm okay. Sore, but okay. You?”

A waitress, looking equally haggard, came over with a tray of energon cubes, and both mechs took one, slipping credit chips into her open hand.

“I might have a lining tear. Not a bad one though. There was this big guy who must have been a heavy artillery gunner because he pounded me like I was an Autobot defense wall,” Swerve complained.

Tailgate snorted a laugh at the comparison, but then he apologized. “Sorry. We'll get you looked at tomorrow, after some sleep.” It was then that they noticed a familiar frame over at the bar counter. “Hey, there's that scary purple guy,” he whispered.

“I wonder what he's doing out tonight? He usually doesn't come around on the paydays,” said Swerve, swiveling his head around to look.

“Dunno. I guess he just wanted to be out.”

Suddenly Swerve put his hand on Tailgate's shoulder. “Do I look okay? Not too used?”

Tailgate stifled another snort of laughter. “You look like you just survived another payday.”

Swerve sighed, looking down at himself. “Oh well. If he wants me again, this is what he gets.”

“Ditto, I suppose. Not that we really need to...”

“But if he does... He pays better. Even pays full price at the end of the deca-cycle.”

“I guess,” said Tailgate, looking over at the tall, horned mech.

It wasn't long before the Decepticon noticed them and walked over, Tailgate and Swerve sliding together to make room for him on their bench as he sat down. “You two are up late,” he commented.

“Payday... it's a long few days of work for us,” Tailgate said innocently.

“Of course.” And then he leaned forward onto the table drawing closer to Tailgate. “Mask off, little one,” he ordered.

Tailgate slid away his facemask, smiling shyly. The big Decepticon was still frightening, but at least they knew it was just his looks and mannerisms.

“We're both free now, even though we took our wires off to come in for a drink,” offered Swerve, leaning in against his partner and pressing his helm to Tailgate's. Such a display of cuteness had swayed many a mech from 'just looking' to 'how much.' Minibots were often stocky or blocky, but had their diminutive size and naturally adorable nature going for them.

“Hmmm. I'm just here to drink. Speaking of which...” He turned his head toward the waitress and waved and she approached once more with her tray. “Our drinks are empty” he told the two minibots, their nearly drained cubes still clutched in little hands. When the waitress arrived, he selected three lurid purple cubes of high-grade off of the tray and paid the waitress a hundred credits. “Keep the change,” he said as she procured it from her cash box.

As the waitress thanked him, her optics alight with genuine gratitude now, he set two of the cubes in front of the minibots, who thanked him profusely. “I want to watch you drink too,” he said with an odd smirk.

Swerve and Tailgate exchanged glances, and then unsealed the cubes and sipped at the glowing purple energon within.

“Oh! It's so good!” Tailgate squeaked. “I've never had this before! It's so...so sweet and rich and it feels good in my tubes!”

The Decepticon chuckled. “You like that?”

“Yes! It's wonderful! What's it called? I want to order it again sometime!”

“Amethyst Prism,” he answered, taking his own cube and drinking half of it in one go. “One of the delights of Kaon.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!” Tailgate said, pushing his knee familiarly against the purple mech.

“Tailgate, please, you act like you've never had high-grade before,” Swerve chided, looking a little embarrassed by Tailgate's enthusiasm. He turned to the 'Con. “Please forgive him. He's rather inexperienced.”

“Tailgate? Cute name. What's yours?”

“Swerve.”

“Siblings?”

“Friends. Met at the academy in Pescus Hex. Best friends ever since.”

“I see. Swerve and Tailgate.” He leaned back against the wall and continued with his drink. And then he turned his head to look down at the two minibots. Their plating was scuffed and scratched. Their demeanor was one of exhaustion. If he focused he could just catch the scent of transfluid upon them. And it was all oddly enticing. “Maybe I would like to do more than drink tonight,” he said in a low voice, red optics glowing.

Swerve's chin lifted. He'd hoped the big mech would be interested in their wares. “We are available, like I said.”

“I'll give you each a thousand credits for a good frag, and then you can stay in the room if you want and recharge. I know you must be tired, it being payday.”

“You want us to sleep with you?” Swerve was a little stunned. Most mechs wanted them gone as soon as the deed was done.

“Maybe for a while. I'm due back at the base in four cycles. But I'll get a nice room.”

“Like the one at the Turning Light? The one with that really comfortable bed?” Tailgate blurted. “Oh that was so nice. It was so soft and springy and it had all those pillows on it!”

“If you'd like.” The twinkling lights above the bar were reflected in the polish of his massive sensor horns.

“Ooh! Yes please!” squeaked Tailgate again. He took another drink from his cube, but in his enthusiasm accidentally splashed a bit across his faceplate.

Swerve quickly grabbed a napkin and wiped up the droplets, embarrassed by other minibot's clumsiness. “Sir, we'll go anywhere you'd like,” he told the mech, not wanting to lose the job because of Tailgate being immature or demanding or sloppy.

“I'd rather have a nicer room if anyone's going to sleep there. Safer that way.” He drank the rest of his Amethyst Prism and rose from the booth. “Let's go,” he said and strode toward the door.

Tailgate carefully closed the top of his unfinished cube, tucked it into subspace, and scrabbled after him. Swerve quickly downed the rest of his drink and chased after. And soon they were in the lobby of the Turning Light, the big mech selecting the same room as before, and then leading them into the elevator. Swerve put his arm around the Decepticon's waist, the high-grade beginning to affect his gyros, while Tailgate clung to the mech's hand.

Inside the room, Tailgate bounded over to the bed and leapt onto it, bouncing gleefully as he belly-flopped onto the mattress. “I'm going to go wash up first,” Swerve excused himself.

“Of course,” said the Decepticon, moving for the berth as well.

Swerve sighed. He'd thought that Tailgate had matured a bit since the loss of their home and coming to Kaon, but so often he seemed to revert to the naive little thing he'd met back at the academy. Stepping into the washrack Swerve turned the water up full and hot and did his best to get rid of the paint scuffs left by other clients that night. Detaching the spray nozzle he rinsed out his valve, wincing as the water blasted across what had to be a minor tear. If he could coordinate things right, Tailgate could take all the spiking and prevent any further damage to himself.

And when he came out of the shower, he found that would probably be quite likely. Tailgate was already in the big mech's lap, grinding away against him, arms pinned behind his back in one massive fist. This was going to be an easy thousand credits if he could just keep the big guy out of his valve somehow.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Understood” continues in Chapter 6

-o-o-o-o-o-


	6. Chapter 6

A stale scent immediately hit Tailgate's olfactory sensors as the old mech opened the door to his abode. “Well, like I warned you, it's a mess in here. Hope you don't mind too much.”

'A mess' was an understatement, Tailgate saw as his client led him in. The house was full of... of everything. Had this mech cleaned up or even thrown anything away in the past hundred vorns? The room was full of junk of every kind, filling every surface and most of the floor. Stacking seemed to be the usual storage method, for there were stacks of stuff atop every piece of furniture and stacks in every corner. There were spare parts, advertiser's free datapads, spare parts from mechs that were definitely not his frame-type, low-class novelties, framed image-captures, collections of various trinkets, empty energon containers, broken toys, broken who-knows-what's, plating samples, outdated computers, worn-out consoles, polishing brushes, and thousands of nameless objects littering the whole room. Cables and wiring snaked across the floor and between the stacks.

“Berthroom's back here,” said the mech, obviously a veteran of the Kaon-Helex Conflict given a set of banners hanging upon the walls and much of the disorganized memorabilia. A large model of a Kaonian Type III Shock-Cruiser hung from the ceiling in one corner covered in a layer of dust that had probably been accumulating since the Kaon-Helex Conflict. He led the way along a narrow path through the debris to a smaller room. A berth awaited, a berth that appeared to be half used for recharge and half used as display space for more of the clutter.

“Here, let me make some more room for us. Oh this is going to be fun!” said the old mech happily as he began clearing the berth, stacking the things he removed onto the stacks of other things against the walls of the room.

Tailgate waited patiently as the mech busied himself. And when the berth cover was revealed, the mech pulled it off to reveal a surprisingly clean mattress beneath. “Hop on and make yourself comfortable. I'm going to go get us some drinks.”

Tailgate lay down trying to convince himself this wasn't that bad. He'd endured worse. There was that time he'd been taken to a deep doorwell not too far from Seventh Cycle street, and in the midst of a rather uncomfortable frag the residents on the other side of the door had chased them off.

The mech reentered with a couple glasses of darkly-tainted energon in hand and gave one to Tailgate. “Here you go, cutie. Distilled it myself. My sergeant taught us how to make our own hooch back when we were fighting Helexians.”

“Thank you,” said Tailgate with a forced smile. This job involved a lot of forced smiles. He cringed but drank it anyway, finding that it wasn't half bad.

The mech drained his glass and shoved it into the clutter on the bedside table. Tailgate did the same. And then he sized up the minibot upon the berth. “Primus you look good,” he said. “May I start?”

“Of course you can. You've paid me to be here,” said Tailgate with a more genuine smile. Most mechs simply pounced upon him the moment he got anywhere close to a berth. Some didn't even wait that long.

“Anything you don't like or don't want me to do?”

Tailgate was astounded that the mech had asked. “You can do whatever you want that will get you to overload, short of hurting me,” he replied.

“Hurt you? What!? What sick fragger would want to hurt you?”

“There are all types out there,” Tailgate replied with a shrug.

“Well I ain't going to hurt you. This is about having a good time, isn't it?”

“I'd hope so.”

The old mech chuckled and climbed onto the berth, his cables creaking, and moved to embrace the minibot. “Well just tell me if I'm doing anything that feels wrong, or if I'm doing something that makes you feel really good.”

“All right,” said Tailgate as the mech began to wrap his arms about his torso. Maybe this wouldn't be such a bad job after all.


	7. Chapter 7

The purple Decepticon was on the prowl again, a gleam in his optics. The various streetwalkers straightened and smiled, some moving into brighter light, each hoping to catch his eye. A few even were brazen enough to wave a greeting at him. A spindly red flightframe was the first to receive any interest, and they talked for a while, at least until the red mech invited him to touch his frame, which he did. And liking what he felt he jerked the mech against his broad chest and whispered something into his audials. The two then made off for one of the apartment buildings, the red mech leading the purple one along with a smile.

Swerve had seen the whole exchange from where he sat inside of the Swinging Gate Tavern, having a drink with a client before heading upstairs. Tailgate had gotten lucky early and was off with a young Decepticon recruit for three cycles, the newbie enjoying the pleasures his soldiering wages could purchase.

Swerve sent Tailgate a message as his own client began suggesting things he'd like to try with the red and white minibot, whispering them into an audial, his hands beneath the counter pawing seams. ::Scary-plates was out here. He and Fastfire went off to one of the residentials.::

::Oh? Oh well. Lucky Fastfire.::

::Yeah. Oh well. Gotta go now. Hands here is finally getting serious.:: 

::Have fun. Be safe.::

::I will.::

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate was glad his mask was up so his customer couldn't see his disappointment. He'd had two transactions with the purple Decepticon so far, and both had gone unusually well. The old warrior was experienced, comfortable, generous, and as always unexpectedly gentle, rather the opposite of the mech clanging him right now. He was sure there would be a set of finger-shaped dents across each of his thighs once this was over. Though a few dents were nothing compared to what could happen.

He thought of the big purple mech, wondering what he'd seen in Fastfire. Fastfire was nothing like the minibots he seemed to prefer. The Puppycon behind him suddenly slipped free of his valve, misjudging his depth, and managed to poke the rim of his valve with his hard spike. “Ow!” Tailgate exclaimed.

The other mech moaned with equal discomfort. “Sorry...”

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Understood” continues in Chapter 8

-o-o-o-o-o-


	8. Chapter 8

Gamma put her hands on her hips as the Decepticon's romantic drivel went on. “I mean it darling. You don't have to live like this. You don't have to. I'll get us an apartment and you can stay home and relax.”

“No. I'm not interested. Tailgate, tell him I'm not interested.”

Tailgate sighed. “She's not interested,” he parroted. The young mech's offer actually sounded pretty good to him. He wasn't exactly handsome, but he was offering a life of love and leisure.

“But I love you darling. I love you like I've never loved anyone in my whole life.”

“You don't even know my name,” she pointed out. “And you're wanting to bond with me?”

“I don't have to know your designation to know how much I want to be with you.” He took her hand from her hip and pulled it to his face and kissed it. “And when I know your name, I'm going to carve it upon my spark chamber. No! I'm going to carve it upon my spark itself!”

Gamma groaned quietly. “Tailgate, don't ever be anyone's first.”

“Please, I love you and I'm not going to leave you.” The mech pressed her hand to his cheek.

“Look, don't make me call an enforcer.”

The olive-green Decepticon looked desperate but stepped back a bit. “Tell me what I have to do to make you love me. I'm offering you everything. My life. My spark. My love.”

Tailgate sighed again. The mech was seriously smitten with the black and pink minibot. He and Swerve had been close since getting together, but never 'in love' as they say.

“Come back and ask me when you're a captain,” answered Gamma.

“A captain? That's what you want?”

“I'd want a captain over a brand new rank-less recruit.”

“Then that's what I'll be. Tell me your name, and I'll ask you again when I've been promoted to captain.”

“I'm Gamma of Kaon Bridges, and I'll be here waiting for you,” she said.

“Gamma...” he said with a smile, his processors drifting into a happy state. “Give me one kiss and I'll let you go.”

Gamma obliged him. “And what's your name? So I'll know who's coming for me.”

“It's Skyserpent of Vos.”

“Well then Skyserpent of Vos. I'll see you when you're a captain.”

“You'll see me before. I'll be back to visit you when I have money.” He stole a quick kiss and then walked away, looking back at her and waving.

“That's so romantic,” Tailgate gushed.

“It's only romantic in the holovids,” Gamma said, unmoved by the olive-green mech's affectionate display. “He'll be dead within a vorn or two. Long before he becomes an officer. That's the reality.”

“There's still a chance though.”

“I suppose. Some of them do make it.”

“And you'll be his if he does?”

“I would. It would be nice to be a captain's woman. Though chances are if he ends up on the promotion track he'll forget about me long before that happens.”

“You think so? He really seems taken with you.”

“Tailgate. Come over to reality. I'm just a passing fancy. A distraction from the misery of daily life. An available frag when you need it.”

Tailgate looked up the dark street where the mech had gone. “I'll try to remember that.”

“Do, or you'll end up with a broken heart or strung out on circuit boosters, or probably both.”

“I will.”

“Good,” Gamma smiled. “You're a sweet if naive mech, Tailgate. I'd hate to see you end up like so many of us do.”


	9. Chapter 9

Tailgate sat on the berth propped up against the upholstered headboard, watching his client across the room. The big purple mech had found him again and taken him to a hotel room. It was there that the Decepticon produced a couple of large cubes of a glittering blue energon from subspace and sat them on the table. “Oh! For us?”

The Decepticon officer looked over at him with a displeased look.

“Oh,” Tailgate replied sheepishly. “I guess that was a stupid thing to say. Of course it's for us.”

“At least you have other charms,” was the response. 

“Well maybe you were inviting someone else over.”

The big mech chuckled. “It's just you and I tonight.” He took one of the glasses from the side table—this place on Third Cycle Street was a nice enough hotel to provide a few conveniences. And then he filled a glass from the cube he'd opened and handed it to the minibot. “I think you'll like this. They call it Heavy Water.”

Tailgate sipped. “Oh! It is good!” he exclaimed.

Cyclonus smiled, and when Tailgate's cup was empty he refilled it again. Then pouring a drink for himself he walked to the window, opened the blinds, and and stared out across Kaon And he just stood there drinking, silently lost in his thoughts. And when he'd emptied the glass, he went back over to the table and filled it once more.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Tailgate when the cup emptied again without the purple mech having said a word in between.

He moved to the window with his glass full once more and scowled out as previously. “It will be winter soon.”

“It will be my first winter in Kaon.”

“You'll hate it. Difficult roads. Difficult flying conditions. Expect icy rain and stormy skies.”

“Will there be snow? It never snowed in Pescus Hex.”

“Not often. Mostly we'll have sleet.”

“Are you coming to bed?” asked Tailgate, not really wanting to talk about the weather any more. He'd been fantasizing about lying beneath the big jet for the past several days.

“I'm still drinking,” growled the mech.

Tailgate apologized. “I just didn't want you to be wasting your time.”

The Decepticon harrumphed. “It's my time. I've paid for it. I'll waste it in drinking if I want to.”

Tailgate tried to sit patiently. This behavior was quite strange for a client. Usually his employers began clanging him just moments after arriving in the decided-upon place. The common understanding was that the agreed-upon time began the moment the berthroom was entered. And apparently this purple mech was unconcerned with getting every credit's worth of his four-cycle block. In Tailgate's sudden anxiety he spilled a little of the thick blue liquid down his faceplate. He gasped and stared down at the trickle across his chest.

Attention drawn, the client's expression went from morose to an amused grin.

Tailgate quickly hopped off the berth and went to the washrack, grabbed a small towel, and wiped himself off. He apologized again and returned to the bed, obviously trying to hold himself gracefully and with a little more composure. But before he could climb back on and settle himself, his client picked him up and turned him around. Red optics stared into his and he wondered yet again what the big mech was thinking. And then he found himself set down and pushed against the berth, followed by his client kissing him fiercely. A long glossa forced itself into his mouth. Hands wandered over his plating and claws curled into seams. This passion was new, and quite unexpected.

And then as suddenly as it had started the lapse of character was over. The Decepticon officer straightened back up, drank what was left in his glass, and then pulled the seal on the second cube. “I'm not done drinking yet,” he said with a tone that nearly indicated some embarrassment over what had just happened. But then he looked at the minibot with a wicked grin. “Though maybe I'll have you start without me.”

Tailgate's optic band brightened in shocked surprise. “You want me to... You want me to pleasure myself?”

“While I watch, yes,” the purple mech grinned.

Tailgate's intake fans whirred in surprised astonishment. This was a strange request.

And that astonishment did not go unnoticed. “So make yourself comfortable and let me see what you do to bring yourself to overload. Maybe I'll learn a little something...”

“Well...” Tailgate felt awkward. Sex with another mech was one thing, but pleasuring oneself? Wasn't that just a bit too private and personal? “I've never done that for an audience before. Wouldn't you just rather frag me?”

“Your modesty is endearing,” said the purple mech. “And most unnatural for someone of your profession.”

“You really want me to touch myself for you?”

The response was a chuckle, yet another pouring of Heavy Water, and the pulling up of a chair turned to face the berth.

Tailgate sighed and leaned up against the headboard again. He could do this for a client. Especially a good one like this mech. It wasn't that embarrassing, was it? “Well feel free to come join me when you're done drinking,” he said with a resigning sigh.

“I shall,” said the Decepticon, sipping again from his glass. “No question of that.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Understood” continues in Chapter 10

-o-o-o-o-o-


	10. Chapter 10

Winter had come to Kaon, bringing with it the icy storms sucked down from Cybertron's polar regions. It had begun raining the day before payday and four days later the rain continued to fall as sleet.

Tailgate stood beneath the broad reflector of the streetside light in front of the Old Kaon Tavern. It wasn't much shelter, but it was better than complete exposure, at least until the wind picked up. If he could get at least one good customer tonight, it would start to make up for the poor showing of this past payday. The usual flood of fun-seekers had been a mere trickle thanks to the weather. At least Swerve had been lucky. On the second day a big ugly tank-former with a shiny new promotion had engaged him for three cycles, which turned into seven when he found Swerve to be likable company beyond the interfacing.

Distant female laughter caused Tailgate to look up from studying his fingertips. Three seeker femmes were moving up the street in the ice-laden rain—sometimes walking, sometimes skipping, sometimes stumbling. They obviously were out on a pub crawl of Overdock, bad weather be damned.

He watched them pass and come to a shaky halt in front of the Old Kaon Tavern. “This is the place,” declared the center one, obviously the trine-leader. On the ground or in the air, seekers always clung to their formation.

“Here?”

“Yes. The Old Kaon Tavern. 'Been here longer than Megatron.”

“That old? Really?” asked the magenta femme. Her unusual coloration stood out even in the dimming effect of the half-frozen rain. Her Decepticon sigil and trim were done in white rather than the usual purple.

“It is.” The trine-leader stepped up to the greeter beneath the large awning, who immediately switched on the air hose and began to blast the cold precipitation from her plating. The other two waited their turn. Tailgate went back to studying his fingertips. He could really use a fresh enameling of his hands.

“Hey dummy! Get out of the rain!” came a shout from one of the femmes in Tailgate's direction, followed by a loud laugh.

Tailgate looked about, and seeing no other mechs about the street, he pointed at himself. Had the gold-faced seeker just addressed him as 'dummy'?

“Yeah, you! Get out of the rain! What are you doing standing out there?”

As if to emphasize the misery of his post, a sudden gust of wind pelted him with sleet.

“Calm down, Flightstar. He's a prostitute,” said the trine-leader, turning herself so the greeter could blast the water from her front side now. “He's just out there looking for some business. Don't you know anything about Overdock?”

“Well I know he's a prostitute.” She turned again to Tailgate. “Well why don't you at least stand under a roof or something? Nobody wants to frag a half-frozen valve!” she hollered at him and laughed once more.

“Oh be nice, 'Star,” said the magenta seeker. And she left the tavern's deep awning and doorway and went out to where Tailgate stood. “I'm sorry about my sister,” she apologized. “She's kinda drunk and thinks she's funny.”

Tailgate straightened. “It's okay. We're used to dealing with drunks around here. Comes with the territory.”

The femme tilted her head slightly, taking in the minibot. “Forgive me for being ignorant—this is my first time in Overdock—but why are you out here in the rain instead of inside the tavern? Or at least under an awning or something?”

“Kaonian regulations,” Tailgate replied matter-of-factly. “Unless invited by the business management or a patron, we're not allowed to solicit inside or within ten meters of a business entrance. And this area is my usual place to hang out when working.”

“Oh, I see. Must be awful on nights like this.” 

“It is. But there's not much else we can do.”

It was then that Tailgate noticed the seeker was smiling at him. “Why don't you come inside with us? Warm up a bit and I'll buy you a cube.”

“That's nice of you, but you don't have to. Your apology was more than I ever get.”

“C'mon, I want to. You look like you could use a little fuel. Your optics are looking kinda dim.”

“Oh, sorry. I'd switched to power-conservation mode.” His optics immediately brightened.

“Come on. You'll feel better,” said the femme, stretching out her hand to him.

Tailgate didn't hesitate a third time and allowed her to lead him up to the doorway.

“Comet! What the slag...?” asked the gold-faced seeker, currently getting the water blasted off of her. The trine-leader had already gone inside.

“I'm just buying him a drink. Isn't he cute?”

The obnoxious femme groaned and turned for the greeter. “Just keep your pockets locked. I hear the whores out here steal anything that isn't bolted down.” And when the greeter was finished with her, Tailgate found himself pushed forward and blasted by hot air, which alone felt wonderful. He'd be dripping for a while out of his ankles, but at least he was no longer soaking.

“Don't mind Flightstar. She's just annoying sometimes,” said the magenta femme to him when her sister had gone in.

Inside the Old Kaon Tavern, Tailgate sat with the seeker femmes at a table near the empty space that passed for a dance-floor, a good sized cube of something his benefactor called “Fornaxian Flame” warming his hands. Admittedly he did feel better already without the icy rain assaulting him and some potent fuel beginning to digest in his tank.

The gold-faced femme was staring at him. “I can't believe you brought him in here,” she said to her sister.

“So? Can't I be nice to someone now and then?”

“I don't have to pay mechs to go out with me,” was the teasing retort.

Tailgate had to admit, the gold-faced seeker was very beautiful, easily the prettiest of the three, and could probably get any mech interested in her. At least until she opened her mouth.

“What? I'm just buying him a drink. He looked so cold out there. You were cold, weren't you, sweetie?” She put her arm around Tailgate and hugged him against her.

“I was,” he said shyly. He might get a second drink out of this if he put on the right act. Some patron might also notice him as well while he was in here.

The trine-leader came back from the bar with a bottle of something, and to Tailgate's surprise, four glasses on the tray. “Vosian energon wine!” she said delightedly, setting the tray down and filling the four glasses. Well, there was his second drink. It had been a good decision to go inside with the femme.

“Ooh! Vosian wine! Jetstream! I love you!” giggled the gold-faced seeker.

When each had a glass in hand, a toast was made. “Here's to Blackwing's promotion and transfer to Helex,” said the trine-leader. “May we never see our dear commanding officer again.”

“I'm sure they'll replace him with someone just as miserable,” commented the magenta femme.

The three seekers laughed and drank, and Tailgate drank with them, being extra careful not to dribble any of the wine. The song playing over the sound system changed and the gold-faced seeker immediately perked up. “Ooh! Gotta dance!” she said and rose. “C'mon Jetstream. Let's shake it!” she said, grabbing the deep green femme's hand and dragging her onto the dance-floor where a couple of other bots were already doing just that.

“Thanks for coming in with me,” said the magenta seeker to Tailgate. “You did look pretty miserable out there.”

“Gotta make a living somehow,” he replied and drank the rest of the wine before going back to what remained of the warm orange energon. “You're very kind.”

“I suppose I can be sometimes.”

“Comet! Get your aft out here!” called the obnoxious one, coming over to grab her trinemate.

“Sorry,” she apologized to Tailgate as she was dragged onto the dance floor.

Tailgate watched the three. They weren't bad—just the usual Decepticon cannon fodder that paid his bills. There were thousands like them out there. Most weren't pretty femmes as these were, but their purpose was the same.

“So how much to get you to 'face my sister?” asked the usual culprit when two of the three returned to the table. The trine-leader was still out on the dance floor, some purple and grey flyer having taken an interest in her and now taking advantage of the slow song that had come up next.

“'Star!” gasped the magenta femme.

“What? Just asking.” She sat down next to Tailgate and leaned in closely. “What do you charge for it? You see it's hard for her to meet guys 'cause she looks so plain and boring next to me so they kinda ignore her. But she could seriously use a good fragging. Do you know how to please a lady?”

“I do,” said Tailgate confidently. It wasn't a lie. He'd been dating a femme in Pescus Hex before dumping her for Swerve. And how could anyone describe her as 'plain and boring'? Even if the magenta seeker's faceplate paled beside that of her sister, her brilliant coloration more than made up for it beauty-wise. Add to that her kindly personality and she easily outshone her trinemate.

“I was just being nice 'cause you were so rude to him. I wasn't trying to pick him up.”

“C'mon, you obviously like him,” she grinned wickedly. “So how much, little guy?”

The magenta seeker, obviously embarrassed, quickly poured herself more of the energon wine and drank it down quickly. “Not interested,” she said through gritted denta.

Tailgate kinda hated himself for it, but he could really use the sale, and the femme would be probably be a pleasant job. “Three hundred for the first cycle. Two-fifty each additional cycle.” He said quietly, quoting on the low side in hopes of the offer being accepted. A warm berth shared with her would be a pleasure on a day like this.

“Ooh! So worth it! I'm going to hire you to clang my sister here,” the gold-faced femme giggled.

“'Star!”

“C'mon. You'll love it. He knows what to do with a femme.”

“Yes I heard,” she said turning her head away.

“Oh stop being shy. You thought he was cute and all and called him sweetie.”

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean I want to 'face him.”

“You do. I know you do.” She dug into a pocket and pulled out a handful of credit chips, counted out five hundred onto the table, and then pushed them in Tailgate's direction. “Here. And the extra is for a hotel room or something,” she said with another giggle.

“Oh Primus,” the magenta femme moaned, turning away again embarrassedly.

“If you really don't want to, you don't have to,” Tailgate said softly. As much as he hoped she did, he didn't want her feeling awkward about it. He took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

She sighed and looked down at again at him, the little blue and white mech tucked up against her thigh, and Tailgate gave her his sweetest smile. The purple Decepticon officer had so quickly broken him of his habit of keeping his mask up all the time. “Fine,” she said, reaching for the wine again and downing another glass. And then she smiled once more. “He is cute.”

“Just keep your pockets locked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my second favorite chapter of the many I've written for this story. I hope you enjoyed it too!


	11. Chapter 11

“Hey! Hey Tailgate!” called the gruff voice, the growl cutting through the chilly wind.

Tailgate spun to see who had addressed him, surprised to find the tall purple mech standing there. They were leagues from the Overdock district.

A few strides and he was looming over him. “Shopping?” he asked, noting the box in the minibot's hands.

Tailgate looked down at it. “Well yes. Swerve needed some new extender gaskets. We can't get good ones in... well... where we... where we live...” His voice trailed off embarrassedly. No one actually admitted to living in Overdock.

“I suppose not.”

“Well I must be going. Have a little more shopping and then have to get these back to Swerve. They say it might start raining again tonight.”

“Are you in a hurry to get home?” the big mech asked.

“I'm not working right now, if that's what you're asking.” Tailgate was suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious for being recognized outside of his neighborhood. Besides, he wasn't licensed to work outside of Overdock. Violation of the law meant a stiff fine and a three-orn revocation of any valid licenses he did have.

“I saw,” said the mech, having noted that the bundle of black wires usually wrapping Tailgate's arm was absent. He trailed his hand across the bared area, his thumb flicking at the place they'd usually be. “And no, that's not what I was asking. I was wondering if you'd like to have a drink. My treat.”

“That's nice of you but I'm technically not even supposed to make arrangements here. I can't afford the license to work outside of Overdock.”

The Decepticon laughed. “I was only offering to purchase some energon for us, provided we sit together and drink it at the same table. How technically do I need to explain this?”

Tailgate suddenly felt embarrassed. “I just thought that... Well no one ever wants a drink unless they're getting something else out of the deal too. Well okay, a femme bought me a drink last deca-cycle because she felt sorry for me being out in the cold, but then I ended up getting hired.”

The officer squatted down and looked at the blue and white mech. “To be honest, there was something I wanted. I was hoping for just a little company, and a little smile. And if I was lucky I'd get to see you lick the energon off your lips. You're a clumsy drinker.”

“What?!” Tailgate drew himself up. “I'm not a....” And then he remembered his last encounter with this mech. He'd spilled the last drips of his Heavy Water down his faceplates and onto his hand when trying to drink it too quickly, and had licked them off with an unintentional show, much to the amused delight of their employer. “Oh. I guess I am.”

The purple mech snorted and stretched out his hand. “Come on, cutie. There's an oilhouse just around the corner from here.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Understood Continues in Chapter 12

-o-o-o-o-o-


	12. Chapter 12

“I can't believe I just did that,” sighed Tailgate guiltily.

“I can,” rumbled Cyclonus, drawing the much smaller mech to his side. “You need the money.”

Defensively Tailgate's mask snapped up. “I didn't do it because I needed the money,” he protested. "It was payday this week for the base so I'm no longer poor.” Though it hadn't been as good of a payday as usual. The chilly weather had lessened the crowds.

“At least for now. Winter isn't good for business.” He shifted their positions so that he was lying on his side with the white and blue mech's back curled against his front.

Tailgate sighed. Could the Decepticon so easily read his thoughts? “Rent is due. And those gaskets weren't cheap.”

“See. Only for now.” And then he moved his arm around Tailgate as if to embrace him, but instead dropped a handful of credit chips onto the berth in front of the mech's visor. “This should help though.”

Tailgate lay there looking at the money for a while. The purple Decepticon had taken him to an oilhouse for a drink. One drink had become four as they watched the bar's hired entertainers dance and play music. Then Cyclonus was escorting him back to more familiar territory, but somehow they'd wandered into a hotel in the Little Iacon neighborhood. Tailgate's protests that he wasn't licensed to work in Little Iacon were immediately silenced by the big mech holding his mask in place.

“If I take that, I'll be breaking the law,” sighed Tailgate staring longingly at the credit chips.

“A technicality. We're only five blocks from the official boundary of Overdock.”

“I told myself that I'd stay a good mech. That I'd not get involved in crime or vice or anything like that. I go to the licensing office and get all the necessary virus scans and malware blockers every deca-cycle.”

“I appreciate that,” said Cyclonus, nuzzling at the back of the minibot's cowl. “But if you don't want to take the money, I'm just going to leave it here and the mech that cleans this room will be one lucky fellow.”

“Fine.” Tailgate reached out and took the chips and placed them into a pocket—eight hundred credits' worth. “Just don't tell anyone. Not even Swerve. In fact, I'd better just walk home myself from here. It's only five blocks you said.”

“If you'd prefer. This area isn't too dangerous.”

“I don't think so. Little Iacon's as safe a place as there is in Kaon.”

Cyclonus' hand slid down to cup the minibot's protective panel. “You're such a good little mech. See? You've even closed up already.”

“I try to be. It's hard though, living where I do and working as I do.”

“Mmmm. Open up again and I'll show you what a big bad Decepticon does with good little mechs.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Understood continues in Chapter 13

-o-o-o-o-o-


	13. Chapter 13

It was another typical mid-deca-cycle afternoon. A thick layer of late-winter cloud hung above Overdock, threatening rain but never making good on its threat. Mist was all that seemed to appear, just enough to dampen the streets. Swerve, Gamma, Hot Zone, and Tailgate sat on a bench in front of the Landing Pad Hotel sharing a cube of high-grade and talking about nothing in particular when the sound of heavy footsteps caught their attention. Five mechs emerged from an alleyway and headed for the front of the building across the street. The four minibots stared at the group as they paused in the deep unlit entryway.

“Primus! It's the DJD!” gasped Gamma.

“The what?” asked Swerve.

Three of the group went into the building while the largest one and the bright red and yellow one turned and stood as if guarding the entryway.

“The DJD? The Decepticon Justice Division? Megatron's elite hitmen?” Hot Zone asked in a tone that indicated he was surprised the newer mechs had not heard of them.

“Oh wow. That sounds serious,” said Swerve.

“They look kinda scary,” added Tailgate.

“They are,” Hot Zone assured him.

Gamma trembled as she stared at the two across the street. “That's Kaon,” she squeaked. “Oh Primus! He looks even better than his pictures.”

“These guys are hardcore killers,” said Hot Zone with a fearful reverence.

“What are they doing here in Overdock?”

“Probably looking for someone. They're sent after Decepticon deserters and traitors.”

“Oh wow,” breathed Tailgate quietly. “Which one's Kaon?”

“The bright one. Ooooh... he's there. He's just standing there,” said Gamma tremulously. “He's so beautiful.”

“Hey Gamma? Think you could spin your fans any faster?” Hot Zone teased.

“I could if he touched me,” she answered right back, her optics never leaving him.

The others chuckled, surprised at the femme's fangirl crush on the red and yellow mech. Swerve took the cube of high-grade from Tailgate's hands and finished off the last sips in the bottom. “Well I guess if we hear screams or shots from inside the building I guess we'll know they found what they were looking for,” he said

“That's horrible,” exclaimed Tailgate.

“They're horrible.”

“Except Kaon,” Gamma reminded them.

“He has no optics,” observed Tailgate.

“No, and it's so sexy.”

“Really? Whatever,” answered Swerve disparagingly.

They watched the pair in the doorway for a while, half-hoping there would be no screams or shots or other indicators of violence from inside, and half-hoping that there would. A little excitement and a new story to tell would relieve the day's oppressive boredom. Gamma continued to sigh and gush, until she drew herself up and announced with determination: “I'm going to go talk to him.”

The three mechs looked panicked. “Gamma! No! He'll kill you!” protested Hot Zone.

“No he won't. As far as I know I'm not on their list.”

“Like their hit list? Well you're probably not, but you'd just be bothering him,” said Swerve.

“I won't be bothering him.” She whipped a towel out of subspace and wiped it over her faceplate. “I'm just going to go tell him how sexy I think he is and how much I adore him. Maybe he'll 'grave my chestplate. Besides, if he kills me it would be so worth it to feel him touch me.” She put away the towel and drew herself up again. “Wish me luck!” she grinned and stepped into the street and walked over to the two DJD members.

“Gamma, no,” Hot Zone cried after her, hands stretching but legs frozen on the spot.

“Let her go, Hot Zone,” Swerve said, holding onto the dark blue mech's arm. “She'll be fine.... I think.”

“I can't watch,” Hot Zone whimpered. He turned away and slumped onto the bench. His biolights ceased to glow.

“He shut down!” exclaimed Tailgate.

Tailgate and Swerve watched anxiously as Gamma boldly approached the two DJD brutes and addressed the smaller one.

“I hope Hot Zone's wrong,” Tailgate sighed. “You really don't think he'll kill her?”

“I don't think he would. Random killings, even of throwaway mechs like us, aren't exactly condoned.” They continued to watch. “Well... So far they're just talking.”

“So far.”

A breem passed, at which point Gamma leaned up against the wall of the entryway and the red and yellow mech dropped to his knees before her.

“What's he doing?” Tailgate stammered nervously.

The big mech moved to watch what was about to happen, blocking the view, and Tailgate and Swerve could no longer see Gamma or Kaon or what was going on, except for the flickering light of electrical discharge behind the behemoth. They heard Gamma cry out and both tensed in terror.... at least until the cry morphed into an ecstatic laugh.

When she came back across the street a few kliks later, Gamma was grinning with a look of manic delight on her face. “He did it!” she giggled triumphantly. “Look!” She opened up one of the minor transformation plates on her chest and pointed proudly. Scored into it with an electrical burn were the glyphs for Kaon and the DJD.

“Oh wow! He did!” gasped Tailgate, slapping his hands to his mask and admiring the permanent mark to the inside of her frame.

“What happened to Hot Zone?” she asked, suddenly noticing her partner slumped lifelessly on the bench.

“He couldn't bear to watch you killed, so he forced himself into recharge,” answered Swerve.

“I see.” And then she laughed. “I've gotta wake him up so he can see this.”

Hot Zone was roused and Gamma proudly showed off the autograph to him. “He was actually pretty nice to me,” she said, lost again in her fantasy. “He told me I should join the Decepticons though... that I could do so much more with my life than whoring myself out.”

“Hitman and motivational counselor. That's quite a combination,” remarked Swerve.

After a while the door deep in the entryway opened again and the other three members of the DJD exited. They talked among themselves for a moment before moving back toward the alley from whence they had originally come.

Except for Kaon. Kaon came across the street, heading straight for Gamma.

Her few biolights flared intensely, and as he reached the curb he beckoned to her. She walked quickly toward him, and he leaned down to talk privately with her. After a moment and a delighted giggle from Gamma, he took her by the hand and the two went into the entryway of the Landing Pad.

“I can't believe it,” Hot Zone said, mouth agape.

“He wanted her? Someone like that actually wanted her?”

Swerve leaned in toward his partner. “See, Tailgate? Dreams do come true, even for us throwaway little people.”

-o-o-o-o-o- 

Understood continues in Chapter 14

-o-o-o-o-o-


	14. Chapter 14

“How much for the two of you?” asked the shuttle-former, bright optics leering down at Swerve and Tailgate standing outside a hotel holding hands. It looked cute. Cuteness always got them customers.

“Eight hundred for one cycle. Six hundred for each additional cycle.” Swerve had become quite the bargainer, tracking the current rates and quoting prices based upon how many mechs were out selling themselves and how far from or to payday it was. The dreary weather of late had brought a slump in business and there were a lot of streetwalkers out tonight.

“But you two hardly make up one mech put together,” the Decepticon teased. They all teased that. “I should get the two of you for five hundred,” he suggested.

“We could go to seven hundred for both of us for the first cycle, and five for each cycle afterward.” Swerve countered. “That's half of what we charge on payday.”

“And it isn't payday, is it?” The mech squatted down and reached a hand out to stroke it down Swerve's chestplate. “How about this?” He pulled a couple of shuttle-sized cubes of highgrade from subspace. One thousand and these two beauties for two cycles at my place. And you've gotta moan real nice for me. Hearing a little mech moan really gets my thrusters going if you know what I mean.”

Swerve's visor glinted. “All right. You've got a deal.”

The big mech handed Swerve the two cubes, and Swerve immediately subspaced them. Then the shuttle-former transformed and opened the door to his passenger compartment. “Get in.”

Tailgate put his hand on Swerve's arm. “Are you sure about this?”

“Should be okay. I've seen him around here before and no one's said anything about him.” He led the way inside and the two minibots strapped in for flight.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Understood continues in Chapter 15

-o-o-o-o-o-


	15. Chapter 15

Tailgate found himself thinking often of the big purple Decepticon, of large hands on his frame, of an unusually long glossa probing into places most mechs couldn't reach, of an unexpectedly light frame pressed against his, of a deep rumbling voice that cared nothing whether it sounded pleasant or rough. And he thought often of him when with his clients, imagining it was Cyclonus he was pleasing instead of some nameless Decepticon grunt.

“This is bad,” he sighed to himself one afternoon as he polished himself in preparation to walk Seventh Cycle Street with Swerve. “Why do I keep thinking about him? I'm as bad as Gamma with her hots for that hitman. Well, maybe not quite that bad. She was ready to die for him.”

“Because he treats us decently, pays well, and has a nice frame to boot,” answered Swerve, working on his own finish. “He even gave you his name and exchanged private comm' frequencies.”

“We're not supposed to grow attached though,” Tailgate reasoned. “This is just a job, servicing a bunch of faceless mechs. If we happen to overload now and then, well that's nice but it's not required. But he always makes sure I do—at least once. It's usually better if we don't, right?”

“Yeah. Besides, we both know this is temporary. We'll get real jobs at some point and we can go back to life being something sorta normal. Someone was saying they might be opening up a munitions plant in the West Kaon district next meta-cycle.”

“If I do get a decent job, I still might sell myself to him on the side though...” Tailgate sighed.

Swerve smacked him playfully with his polishing cloth. “Come on. You look great. Let's get out there. And maybe your boyfriend will be around tonight.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Understood continues in Chapter 16

-o-o-o-o-o-


	16. Chapter 16

Tailgate was glad when his current client finally overloaded. Their hips had been clanging together nearly non-stop for five breems in twice as many positions, strong arms gripping the minibot and stronger legs propelling the mech's hips forward. And admittedly the overload was a spectacular one. The big tricolor mech climaxed with an amazing release of charge, his back arching and every component shuddering and electricity crackling over every bit of his frame from wingtips to ankles. He wailed a sound that tore through the heavy drone of their cooling systems and Tailgate's own whimpering. The overload continued for some two full kliks, the mech jerking erratically against Tailgate's hips and a sea of transfluid spilling between them.

When it was finally over the big mech listed to the side and then with a deep groan collapsed to the berth, his frame continuing to shudder for at least another breem as his hydraulics hissed in exhaustion.

Finally regaining himself, a white arm reached for Tailgate and pulled the minibot in close. “Thank you,” he whispered into an audial port. “Thank you. That was perfect.” He sighed blissfully, reveling another full-frame shudder, as his processors drifted into the post-release euphoria.

“Mmm...” Tailgate responded noncommittally.

“I know I take a while, but it's very worth it.”

Tailgate squeezed the dark grey hand that had somehow entwined with his.

The tricolor... something... pulled him closer, wrapping himself comfortably against Tailgate's frame. Tailgate still hadn't figured out what this client's alt-mode was. Four wings. Treads. Wheels. Thrusters. Charge focusers. Guns. Cockpit. This one had it all. Some kind of triple-changer was the best he could guess. Certainly he was a Decepticon officer out slumming in Overdock. “Now for my favorite part,” was the accompanying statement, one voiced with something of a dangerous-sounding purr. The big mech nuzzled his faceplate against Tailgate's cowling, apparently having dropped his white mask.

Tailgate tensed. After all that pounding he wasn't sure he had anything left for his client. He was low on fuel and his valve surely needed a full lining replacement. “What would you like?” he asked nervously.

The hand squeezed back. “Just lie there, little guy, and let me cuddle you for the rest of our time.”

“A cuddle?” was the surprised response.

“Something wrong with that?”

“No. No of course not. I just wasn't expecting that of someone of.... of your persuasion.”

The tricolor mech chuckled drowsily. “I suppose you're not used to being asked for it of those you entertain.”

“No,” was the honest answer. He and Swerve still cuddled, but as for their clients, rarely were any of them were interested in more than the interfacing.

“Think you can handle my perversion?”

It was Tailgate's turn to chuckle. He'd definitely not expected a sense of humor along with an affectionate side when the big war-framed mech had strode up to him on the street, put a strong hand on his shoulder, tilted him back for a better look, and said simply and coldly: “You'll do. What's the rate?” Apparently he'd really needed that overload given the complete change in personality. 

“That's why I like a smaller partner. Easier to get my arms around him.”

Tailgate lay there, his frame cooling and his head resting against an aqua-blue chestplate, as his client indulged himself in stroking Tailgate's plating and lightly massaging his cabling. Sometimes he pressed a kiss to Tailgate's frame. It was a strange thing for a Decepticon warrior of such magnitude to want such intimacy, especially with a status-less streetwalker. But Tailgate was happy to oblige. It was a lot nicer way to wind down a session than getting fragged pointlessly until the time ran out, and then the mech either begging for free time or throwing him out of the rented room.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Understood continues in Chapter 17

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Besides the obvious few, most of Tailgate's clients in this story are OC's. This chapter is an exception. I had to sneak in one of my favorite Decepticons somewhere.


	17. Chapter 17

Tailgate had never been to Kaon Bridges before, and he was here now in Cyclonus' company, sitting in a large round booth in an upscale bar with his client and several of the purple mech's fellow officers. Tailgate reached for one of the many tiny cubes of energon as the plate was pushed around to him, a pile of high-grade servings his employer had ordered for those present. At the table with Cyclonus sat four seekers, a shuttle-former, and a ground-pounder of some unrecognizable variety. The seeker next to him, painted a medium blue with garish orange detailing, noticed him stretching for one of the pink cubes on the far side, just out of reach, and so plucked up the cube and handed it to him. “You're so cute,” he said bemusedly. “Wherever did Cyclonus find you?”

“Oh... around. I'm new to Kaon,” Tailgate answered modestly. There was no pretense that Cyclonus had done other than hired the little mech as a companion for the evening even though the bundle of black wires had been put away. The ground-pounder had two femmes with him, prostitutes as well but of a much better class than any Overdock streetwalker. The beautifully painted and polished pair glared repeatedly at the visored minibot whenever the rest of the party was distracted.

“Really? Maybe I should take you around sometime. Show you some of Kaon's sights.”

At this point, Cyclonus suddenly noticed the seeker next to him was talking to Tailgate, and he leaned back in the booth and looked at the two.

The blue seeker suddenly lost interest in the minibot.

Tailgate drank the cube of high-grade, his first of the evening, and then sat patiently against his employer's side. The conversation rambled through war stories, politics, gripes about the Autobots, gripes about the Decepticons, and more war stories. When the tray of high-grade cubes was nearly empty, one of the seekers rose. “Let's get out of here,” he announced, “and go over to the Silver Canopy.”

There were murmurs of approval and Cyclonus paid the waiter.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The Silver Canopy was a well-known showclub a few blocks away from the bar they'd been drinking at. The party of ten went in, paid the host, and were shown to a table, whereupon oil and high-grade was ordered. As their drinks were served, they watched the long stage that ran the center of the club, where a mech was juggling five sparkling balls in the air—first in front of him and then behind him, and then with the prehensile toes on his feet. Next a pretty femme emerged, a pleasurebot dancer, and began to perform, her frame draped in ethereal veils that seemed to resist gravity.

Tailgate clung to Cyclonus' arm, staring up in amazement at the pale blue femme as she twirled upon the stage. None of the femmes working at the one showclub in Overdock were this lovely or this graceful. After a couple of songs she was replaced by an equally pretty black and white mech, who did not dance, but instead performed feats of acrobatics and balance. And after he was done, another femme appeared to entertain the group with playful dancing and whirling while the black and white acrobat hung about receiving a bit of playful attention from the shuttle-former. Next on stage was a bright red minibot who told some rather funny jokes—funny enough that even Cyclonus began to smile. Finally in this set of entertainments, “Marvel the Hundredchanger” was announced. A spindly mech with several flexible antennae in hand came out and performed what appeared to be a series of transformations, using the antennae and his own limbs with a long sheet of silver fabric to shape himself into multiple forms. The seekers in the audience all cheered and hooted wildly when he did a pretty good impression of a seeker, though Tailgate decided that his cybercat form was the best. His impersonation of Megatron brought the house down.

Cyclonus had obviously had his fill of conversation at the bar, for while the seekers and the ground-pounder continued to chatter, the big purple jet just sat in his chair watching the show. The ground pounder's two hired femmes looked rather bored and after a while ended up chatting with another of the entertainers that worked at the Silver Canopy.

Tailgate continued to sit quietly at Cyclonus' side. It was unusual to be hired for companionship as well as for sexual purposes. Cyclonus had engaged him for the whole night, assuring him that it would end with them sharing a berth. But until then he was just to be quiet and look cute and keep the Decepticon officer company. It was obvious that while Cyclonus was here socializing with fellow officers he would rather have been elsewhere. But he was putting on a good show of enjoying himself in their company. The way he'd occasionally reach down and pat Tailgate's thigh showed he at least was enjoying that part of it, or that he was at least looking forward to getting away and giving the minibot a good fragging once alone.

At one point, Cyclonus was called over to another table by someone he apparently knew, and he told Tailgate to remain where he was.

The blue seeker immediately came over the moment Cyclonus was away and took the seat next to Tailgate. “So where can I find you. You really are a darling little thing. I like your looks. I guess old skull-face and I do have something in common after all.”

“I'm... well.. I work in Overdock,” said Tailgate quietly and rather humbly. All of these mechs could afford much better company than himself. Overdock was where common soldiers went to get laid.

“Overdock? Really? Someone like you deserves better. You're so cute and innocent looking.” The seeker reached out and ran his hand flirtatiously along the underside of Tailgate's arm. “Are you available tonight after this party breaks up?”

“Cyclonus has me for the entire night.”

The seeker's face fell. “I see. All right. Well maybe I'll come down to Overdock sometime. It's not really my scene, but if you're there, I'm sure it's better than I'm imagining it to be.”

“It's not that bad. It's just not as nice as the other parts of Kaon.”

“Which house do you work at? I'll come spend some time with you there.”

Tailgate looked embarrassed. “I don't work at a house. But you can usually find me hanging out in front of the Old Kaon Tavern.”

The seeker shuttered his optics rapidly in succession. “No house? A sweet little thing like you out on the streets?”

“All of the houses are full, and as soon as a spot opens up in one every streetwalker and black ice addict in Overdock will be there applying for that one spot.”

“I'm shocked. You really do deserve better.” He looked over at the big purple jet. “I can't believe Cyclonus just hired you off the street.”

Tailgate simply shrugged.

“Well maybe I will come around some time. Where did you say? The Old Kaon Tavern?” His hands again stroked at Tailgate's arm, and then he tried to entwine his fingers with Tailgate's, but noticed Cyclonus looking about and withdrew his hand. “I'll come look for you some lonely night,” he whispered before drifting back to his side of the table. Cyclonus returned soon after.

When the next round of entertainment was over, the party broke and the various members went their separate ways. Cyclonus turned to Tailgate and gave him a smile. “Would you like another drink?” he asked the blue and white mech beside him.

“No thank you. I've had plenty.”

The jet-former smiled. “We'll go then. But if you change your mind, tell me and we'll stop somewhere.”

“Where are we going next?”

“I have a room reserved for us at the Harbor House in Kaon Riverside.”

Tailgate's visor brightened. “In Kaon Riverside? Somewhere nice like that?”

“We can go elsewhere if you'd prefer. It was just convenient for us spending the evening out here in Kaon Bridges.”

“Well no. It's just that I've never been somewhere fancy like that. I've never even been to Kaon Riverside. Well, we did walk along the embankment street once but everything was so fancy and so expensive that I just felt awkward there. Swerve and I bought gelled energon treats from a street vendor, and they cost three times what they would have in Overdock.”

Cyclonus chuckled his deep, ominous chuckle. “I have a room with a view of the water, and they assure me that the balcony is very private.

“Oh... I see.”

“But if you'd feel more comfortable elsewhere, the Overdock Lodger always has rooms available.” 

Tailgate looked up at his client with a bemused smile. When it deigned to appear, Cyclonus' sense of humor was delightful. “If you want the Harbor House, I'm okay with it.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Understood continues in Chapter 18

-o-o-o-o-o-


	18. Chapter 18

Tailgate lay next to Cyclonus, listening to the sounds of the big mech deep in recharge, a quiet symphony of mechanical whirring, electrical humming, and comfortable clicking, all led by the glorious conductor that was his spark, setting the pace with a deep, steady throb of energy.

Cyclonus for once had been more cuddly than lustful, and had decided to sleep after only two rounds. He'd probably had a long day at the base, even before the long evening with his fellow officers. Or perhaps this was the season for high-ranking Decepticons to cuddle, given his experience with the tricolored mech and the way the blue and orange seeker seemed to want to take him home.

Tailgate suddenly realized how honored he was, that the warrior allowed himself to recharge with the minibot still around. Usually clients threw him out as soon as their needs were met or their contract was satisfied. And he didn't blame them either. There were always stories of mechs who'd blacked out for too long after an overload getting robbed of their credits, possessions, and weapons. Worse yet were the more sinster tales of mechs getting hacked or hijacked or stripped for parts while in recharge. Falling asleep with a prostitute was practically an invitation for a mech to end up pillaged or abused.

Tailgate snuggled a little closer, resting right against the large purple frame and looking up at the stars. The Harbor House had a set of unique rooms on the upper floor, where the segmented roof of each rolled back to leave the berths open to the sky. Apparently this was a huge draw for fliers, who liked such an arrangement, being able to sleep open to the night.

And then he looked at the face of his employer, the cruel visage of a warrior, now dark with recharge. The brightest stars were reflected in the polished plating. He'd heard stories of what this lieutenant of Megatron's had done—of the battleships he'd brought down, of the strongholds he'd crushed, of the Autobots he'd slain. But somehow still he felt safe with this mech, as if when in his arms he'd be protected from rough clients, marauding black ice junkies, a cantankerous landlord, and the constant unease that had come with the loss of the academy in Pescus Hex.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Understood continues in Chapter 19

-o-o-o-o-o-


	19. Chapter 19

Tailgate and Swerve were leaning on the utility box to the side of the Old Kaon Tavern, a small rollback board spread open atop the box. It was five days to payday, so chances of either of them finding a customer tonight were slim. But should that slim chance arise, they were there, and playing rollback was an excellent way to stave off boredom. Sometimes it even attracted a mech who liked to play or liked to watch others play. Five times they'd found a customer on dead nights this way.

Boredom. They'd found there was a lot of it in their line of work. The endless waiting between the feast of payday, where for three days mechs with full pockets and a bit of charge to work off would be practically lining up for a cycle or two of pleasure, and the famine of the rest of the decacycle where entertaining one mech a night was considered excellent work.

They'd heard that work in the pleasure houses was slightly steadier. And that it was better yet in the high-end houses that operated in Lower Kaon and Kaon Riverside. Though only factory-framed pleasurebots and the finest mechs and femmes worked at those establishments. There was only a vague hope that either of them would find a place in one of Overdock houses. And of course there was never even a glimmer of hope that they'd even set foot in one of the pleasure palaces those of Cyclonus' rank usually frequented. The recent evening with Cyclonus and his friends had only confirmed that. The two hired femmes, painted in luxurious colors and detailed with gold leaf, were so high in rank in the demimonde Tailgate had felt ashamed every time they'd glanced his direction. He was just a throwaway little refugee streetwalker while they'd probably fragged Megatron himself.

Tailgate watched as the three dice rolled to a stop and Swerve chuckled in dreadful mirth. Two eights and a six. “Get ready to pay up, Tailgate,” Swerve said with mock belligerence as he picked up his player-token and began to move it across the board.

The blue and white minibot groaned. “You've had all the luck tonight.”

“I know. You're usually the lucky one.”

Tailgate reached down into his little bag of tokens they played with instead of money, a collection of seal disks saved from size-two energon cubes, most of which had come from their days at the academy together.

“I'm just hoping my luck holds out. If I can get that job at the munitions plant, at least one of us will have steady pay and work we don't have to be embarrassed about.”

“There are worse jobs. I used to be a waste disposal technician,” Tailgate sighed. “I couldn't believe it when the academy actually accepted me. Primus bless the Decepticons for overthrowing the Functionists.”

“And Primus curse the Decepticons for blowing up the academy. If they hadn't done that, we wouldn't be here sucking spike for a living.”

Tailgate sighed. “Yeah... mixed blessing. Life is so uncertain. Every time you think things are going to be comfortable for a while, something else comes along and upsets the balance.”

“Speaking of something else coming along...” said Swerve, lifting his face. The sweet smile he used for welcoming potential customers appeared.

Tailgate turned to look behind him, only to recognize that the mech striding over was the blue and orange seeker that had been at Cyclonus' party a few days before. “Tailgate! You're here,” he said with a smile.

“Yes. I thought you were just teasing when you said you might come looking for me here,” he replied, unsure of what else to say.

“I don't tease,” the jet stated. “Are you busy?” he asked, noting the rollback board spread out on the utility box.

“Not really. Just passing the time, having a little fun.”

He stepped up and noticed that instead of credit chips the gambling pens on the board were full of energon cube seals, eliciting a smirk from his taut lips. He picked one up and peered at it before setting it back down. “So, want to go have some real fun?”

“His price is four hundred credits for one cycle, but you can have the both of us for seven hundred,” Swerve quoted quickly, hoping to be in on the deal.

The seeker looked at Swerve with a questioning optic. “And you are?”

“He's my partner,” said Tailgate, taking the other minibot's hand with a smile. “We like to work together.” 

“Partners. I see,” he responded with some enthusiasm. “So suppose I wanted to take you two home with me and frag you both for a few cycles, would that be possible?”

“It would,” smiled Swerve. This was suddenly looking like it could be a profitable evening.

“And suppose I wanted to tie you up, or take some private pictures? Or both?”

“The price goes up,” added Swerve quickly.

The seeker smiled with something of a predatory gleam in his optics. “I can afford it, if you're willing to let me.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

The Decepticon gave Tailgate and Swerve a copy of the file of video captures he'd made as if it were some sort of bonus, pictures of the two of them bound in various positions in the seeker's quarters—pictures of the seeker fragging them silly, pictures of the seeker doing obscene things to their tiny frames, pictures of the two looking helpless and thoroughly degraded. And then he paid them five thousand credits each and showed them to the washrack where they could clean up before heading back to Overdock.

The two stood beneath the shower nozzle clinging to each other, trying to comfort each other as they cleaned off the spilled fluids and rubbed out the paint scuffs. It had been horrible and humiliating and even frightening at times. “I'm so sorry,” Tailgate whispered to Swerve. “I thought he would be nice. Cyclonus was always nice and gentle with us.”

“It's not your fault. This guy seemed decent enough. We all know that the packaging doesn't always match the contents.”

“No. At least he didn't hurt us. Not like what happened to Fastfire that one time.”

“Not much anyway. The whipping hurt a little... well, a lot.”

Tailgate sputtered. “I guess he did hurt you.”

“Your valve okay?”

Tailgate nodded. “It will be fine, I think. I've never had anything that big inside of me for that long.”

“The money was good, but, never again,” Swerve sighed with a sob, patting the blue and white mech comfortingly.

“Never again,” sniffled Tailgate, reaching for a fresh scrubbing cloth.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Understood continues in Chapter 20

-o-o-o-o-o-


	20. Chapter 20

The two mechs stood on the street, staring at Swerve and Tailgate but trying to look inconspicuous. “Puppycons,” said Swerve to his partner with a nudge, giving the pair a flirty little wave.

The two suddenly turned to each other, smiling awkwardly and leaning in to converse. The blue one waved back.

And when the pair began to move, Swerve snorted a laugh. “And now into the Rusty Cog to get a little liquid courage.”

As predicted, the pair turned and headed into the tavern one door up the street.

Once they were inside, Swerve grabbed Tailgate's hand and led him across the street. “C'mon. Let's go showroom over there.” Tailgate followed. Swerve was so much better at this than he was. They took up a place, sitting sideways on the wall outside of the Rusty Cog. Normally Hot Zone and Gamma worked there, lounging on the low street wall in front of it but they were both absent tonight.

Through the glass of the bar's front they could see the two targets at the counter waiting for the bartender. Swerve leaned attractively back on on his arms and stretched out a leg suggestively. He'd seen Gamma do the same thing.

“Think they'll notice?”

“Of course they will.”

Tailgate and Swerve were careful not to make eye contact as the two recently-inducted Decepticons sat at a tiny table next to the glass, a larger sized cube of high-grade for each. And when their cubes were drained most of the way, one of the pair slipped out, a grounder whose glossy, freshly applied faction symbol looked completely out of sync with the weather-beaten green that was the rest of his plating. “So, ah... mmm... how much?” he asked, approaching the pair and trying to look confident and suave. The fidgeting leg told a different story.

“Price tonight is five hundred credits for a cycle,” replied Swerve, sitting up just enough so that his legs parted a little more without looking too conspicuous. “And three hundred credits for each additional cycle.”

The mech smiled, obviously liking the answer, which meant that he had at least that much money. “Is that for one or both of you?” he asked, optics drifting to Swerve.

“Just one, but if you want both of us we could work something out... say eight hundred credits for the first cycle and five hundred for each additional cycle.”

“Do you, uh... do you have a mouth?” he asked Tailgate.

“He's got a beautiful mouth. You like kissing? Show him your mouth, sweetie,” Swerve instructed.

Amping up the cute and shy performance, Tailgate retracted his mask.

“See? Isn't he pretty?”

The ground-pounder had by now completely forgotten his confident and suave act and nodded stupidly. “If... if I hired both of you, would... uh... I saw... well, there was this thing I saw in a holovid one time, where the... well...” He leaned in close to Swerve, explaining something in a whisper that obviously both flustered and excited him. His foot twitched all the more.

Swerve listened carefully, nodding along as the newly recruited Decepticon spilled out his fantasy. “Sure thing,” Swerve grinned when he had the full story. “That's what we call a 'Double Praxian Lovelock' around here.”

“And you could do that? With me?” The Puppycon looked terribly eager, optics darting from one minibot to the other.

“We could.”

With a fool's grin he looked in through the window of the Rusty Cog, obviously comm'ing something to his friend. And then he turned back to Swerve. “Eight hundred for the first cycle and five hundred each additional?” His hand slipped into a hatch where credit chips began to jangle.

“Not here,” said Swerve, catching his arm. “Let's go somewhere private first.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Understood continues in Chapter 21

-o-o-o-o-o-


	21. Chapter 21

::Hello Tailgate. I see you there.:: came the private 'comm from Cyclonus.

Tailgate paused and looked about the street but didn't see the big purple mech anywhere.

::Inside the Swinging Gate.::

Tailgate turned his gaze to look into the bar. Like the Rusty Cog, it was one of the few on Seventh Cycle Street with broad front windows where patrons could gaze outside while drinking and remain protected from the elements. On paydays such as this one it was packed. There was Cyclonus sitting inside with two femmes, both of which he recognized as fellow Overdock streetwalkers.

::Want to come join us?::

::That's kind of you, but I was on my way to meet Gamma. She said her client wants a second minibot to play with and her partner's already engaged.::

::Who's Gamma?::

::The pink and black femme that showrooms outside of the Rusty Cog. Partners with Hot Zone, that dark blue minibot with the fancy yellow biolights. I know you've had both of them before.::

::Ah yes. Sprightly little things.::

Tailgate gave the Decepticon a quick wave and moved on. ::I'd like to come have a drink, but I already told Gamma I was coming.::

::Maybe later then? Maybe another time?::

::Of course. Oh, and keep a tight hand on your credits. Spotter is 'grabby' if you know what I mean. And keep your vocalizer tight too. Shine isn't that fond of Decepticons and might be an Autobot sympathizer. I'm actually surprised she's there with you. They're both good in the berth though from what I hear.::

Cyclonus chuckled. ::I'll be careful. Thank you for looking out for me, 'Carrier'.::

::I didn't mean it that way.:: sent Tailgate, dodging a small group of Puppycons, who all turned as he passed by and hooted at him playfully.

::I adore you.::

Tailgate's feet stopped moving and his spark surged. Did his favorite client actually mean it? Or was Cyclonus teasing?

Tailgate resumed his quick walk and sighed. It had to be teasing. Cyclonus wasn't the sort to adore anything. ::Thank you,:: he sent back. ::Oh, and there's Gamma. Have a nice evening with Spotter and Shine.::

::I assure you I will.::

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 22

-o-o-o-o-o-


	22. Chapter 22

“Oh! Look at you!” Tailgate squealed as Swerve exited the finishing room of the paint-parlor. The technicians had done a marvelous job, and the haphazard white and once-bright red had been replaced by a clean white and a more restrained shade of crimson. The low-gloss overcoat worked gorgeously with the colors. “Swerve, you look beautiful! So respectable.” He hurried over to his friend, opening his arms to embrace him, but froze, suddenly looking concerned.

“It's okay. I'm safe to touch,” Swerve answered, knowing the reason for the hesitation. “It's all dried and cured already. And...” Swerve grinned naughtily. “They repainted my spike too. Let's just say it's not a respectable color.”

Tailgate threw his arms around him and hugged him delightedly. “Swerve I'm so excited and happy for you!”

“I'm excited and happy for me too! Let's go get some energon somewhere fancy and celebrate!”

“All right, but you're buying,” Tailgate stipulated.

“Of course.” Swerve paid the painting technicians, and then hand in hand the two minibots ran out and scanned the neighborhood for somewhere to refuel. Swerve had chosen a parlor in Little Iacon to have his paint redone. The only places in Overdock for painting were either spur-of-the-moment detailing shops or very low end shops that were cheap but notoriously sloppy.

“Ooh! There!” said Tailgate, pointing to the top of a building where sunshades and twinkling lights indicated a rooftop restaurant. They found the entrance, glanced over the menu, and then took the elevator up. The host ushered them to a table with a view of the city, and both giggled at the fact that they could so easily see Overdock from where they sat. Two breems later they each had several glasses of variously flavored energon in front of them. Each took one, lifting it in a toast. “Here's to your new job,” Tailgate smiled.

“Here's to my luck holding out,” Swerve added.

They drank and hummed their approval of what they were tasting.

“You really do look beautiful, Swerve,” Tailgate complimented. “Still red and white. Still in the same pattern. But just fresh and nice.”

“I didn't want to get too far away from what I was used to. And I did ask for a more modest gloss from what I had before at the academy.”

“It was a good choice. I like it.”

“I want to look nice. I've got to look like a metallurgy technician now, even if it's just a metallurgy technician in a munitions factory.”

“It's way better than anything you've been doing, and hopefully I'll be able to find something too,” Tailgate sighed. “At least you had your studies done and were moving on into industrial applications. I was only halfway through mine.”

“I'm sure you'll find something,” Swerve said encouragingly. He lifted another of the small glasses, this one filled with a sunshine yellow liquid in which floated a golden glitter. “Here's encouragement to your luck holding out.”

Tailgate grinned and picked up his matching drink. “Here's to something good happening for me.”

They drank and looked out again at the view. “It's so beautiful from up here,” Swerve said after a while. “Even Overdock looks good from up here.”

“Yeah. You can't see the dirty streets or the black ice junkies or all the dilapidated buildings.”

“Definitely better from up here.”

“As soon as I'm settled in the new job, we'll get a new apartment. Something high up with a nice view like this, and a working water heater,” Swerve said. “Somewhere halfway between West Kaon and Overdock.”

“That would be nice. And handy for the transport lines. It would be easier for us that way.”

“As soon as I'm settled and have a few paychecks in, we'll go looking.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 23

-o-o-o-o-o-


	23. Chapter 23

“Are you available?” came the deep voice from behind, causing Tailgate to jump in surprise.

He looked up to see Cyclonus looming over where he sat. How could a mech of his size sneak up on him like that? “You scared me,” he pouted.

The skull-face smiled. “Well? Are you?”

Tailgate leapt to his feet. “All yours!” he squeaked happily.

“Where's Swerve? Is he available as well?”

“Swerve? Oh. Ah, well no.”

The smile on the Decepticon's face fell a little. “Hmmm, a shame. I was hoping for the both of you tonight.” He looked up Seventh Cycle Street and spotted a pale grey mech with dark pink detailing. “Who's that?” he asked, pointed at the grey mech. “Will you work with him?”

Tailgate looked to see whom was being indicated. “Oh, that's Softlight. You don't want him. He's always sliding on black ice, unless you just want someone who lies there and babbles nonsense.”

“Not particularly,” was the answering growl.

“Good,” said Tailgate boldly. “I really don't like black ice junkies. And I'm not even sure if he's even licensed.”

“What about that silver femme just past him?”

“That's Cloudcover. She's fairly new here and nice enough.”

“Would you work with her?”

“Sure.”

“Wait here.”

While Cyclonus solicited Cloudcover's services, Tailgate quickly gave himself a quick oiling. Cyclonus, for as scary as he looked and as gruff as he sounded and as dangerous as he was, was unexpectedly courteous toward the streetwalkers. Tailgate looked up from his oiling to see that the femme was laughing about something, and then she ran her hand along Cyclonus' arm closest to her. Cyclonus caught her under the chin and turned her face into better light. And then he took her hand and kissed it. Was he actually flirting with her?

He did have to give Cyclonus some credit though. The mech could be quite charming when he felt like it. Somehow it made up for his fearsome appearance.

After a while Cyclonus and Cloudcover came back over and the femme greeted Tailgate with a lackluster 'hello.'

“Where to?” Tailgate asked. It was kind of a shame that Swerve wasn't around to partner up with anymore. Swerve was so good at bargaining and setting up the deals. And besides, he was fun to work with. They'd been partners in the berth long before they'd been partners on the street.

Cyclonus twitched his head toward the door of the closest hotel. “Just there. That'll be good enough for tonight.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 24

-o-o-o-o-o-


	24. Chapter 24

“Ahh! He's available!” cried an excited female voice behind Tailgate.

Tailgate turned to see two tiny mechs on a rapid approach—cassette-formers he quickly realized. Right behind them was large dark green cybercat. All three wore the Decepticon brand.

“Oh! Look how cute he is!” squealed the brighter blue one. “ Would you take a femme?” she asked without any introductions, her red optics roving Tailgate's frame.

“Hey! I want him!” protested her male twin, a slightly darker shade of blue than his sister. “I saw him first.”

“I'm the oldest. I get first choice,” said the femme. “But if he says no, he's fair game.” She leaned in toward Tailgate, addressing him seductively. “Tell him you won't. Tell him that you don't like mechs.”

“Replay!” hissed the cat. “Mind your manners.” The red feline optics turned again to Tailgate. “Well? Would you be interested in entertaining her?” The three cassetticons stood silently, frozen with anticipatory looks on their faceplates as they awaited Tailgate's answer.

“Of course I would. I've serviced lots of femmes,” Tailgate said confidently. They didn't have to know that his 'lots' equated to a mere two. Three if one counted the femme he'd dated just before Swerve's entrance into his life.

“Mine!” squealed the femme possessively.

The dark green cybercat smiled. “Now make your offer,” he instructed and I'll take Review on up the street.”

“Not fair! I really did see him first!” pouted the mech.

“You've still got lots of options, I'm sure,” said the cybercat to the pouting mech. 

Suddenly a tiny hand seized his, and Tailgate looked down to see the cassetticon femme looking up at him with her lip components stretched into a delighted grin. She was about two-thirds his height and half his size overall. “So? Got some time to spare? We're going on the White Palace gorge cruise and I need a date.”

A surge of excitement tingled through Tailgate's circuits. “The White Palace boat? Really?” He and Swerve had seen the huge boat for the first time while back at the work camp, when it motored past on its way from where it docked in Uravan Bridges, the white barge all aglitter with diamondelle trim and a thousand curtains veiling its passengers.

For them, living beneath stretched tarpaulins and fueling on low-grade energon, an unending cycle of dust and dirt and scraping for a little money, the craft was a tangible paradise. “We should do that someday—someday when things are better for us,” Swerve had remarked one night as they watched the famed pleasure boat on its return to Uravan Bridges. “Live the good life like a couple of Golden Age rakes.”

“Yes, that one. Want to be my cruise companion?” asked the cassetticon femme.

From Uravan Bridges the White Palace traveled some two cycles up the river to the Kaon Gorge and Greenwater Lake above that, returning along the same route after a stop at the Grottoes of Ironforge. But the pleasures aboard were more than just the pleasures of sightseeing. Passengers were booked into cabins furnished with luxurious berths, and it was expected that during the cycles spent upon the lower river and the lap around Greenwater Lake would be spent making use of them. Energon would be served on the upper deck during the ascent of the gorge. At Ironforge, passengers had a cycle and a half in which to explore the caves and the small lakeside town. On the return passage through the gorge there would be music and dancing and high-grade on the upper deck. The cruise had been around since the Golden Age when well-off Kaonians would while away a day aboard pleasure vessels as they moved lazily up the river and around the lake. In those days a fleet of such ships made the journey, and most of them provided the companionship. In the harder days brought on by the war, luxuries had diminished and now only one ship still plied the route. Passengers were expected to provide their own companions, and the long, decadent parties occupying much of the journey had been reduced to just a nod to what had once gone on aboard these pleasure-barges.

Tailgate's spark fell. “I don't have the money for the ticket,” he said sadly. After starting work in Overdock they'd looked into it, but found the price well beyond their current means for such a frivolous entertainment. “Maybe someday. Save up for a special day I guess,” he'd sighed.

“I'll buy your ticket,” said the femme. “And I'll pay you a thousand credits for coming with me tomorrow. Interested?”

“Really? You'd buy my ticket?”

“Only if you're a good frag,” she grinned.

Tailgate was amazed that she asked. “Of course I'm a good frag. It's what I do for a living.”

“Replay...” whined her twin brother. “Let me have him. He's just my type.”

“Oh, Review. Stop being such a glitch.” She leaned in onto her brother's shoulder. “Tell you what... I get this one for the first berthing. You'll find someone too. Then we'll trade for the second round. And then we can swap back for the third, or not.”

The darker cassetticon's pout suddenly became a happy grin. “Really? All right. That sounds good.” 

“See... no need to argue,” said the cybercat, who then turned and continued on up Seventh Cycle Street. “Come, Review.”

“Well I'll go see if I can find someone we'd both like.” And then he ran up the street after the dark green cybercat.

The cassetticon femme smiled and watched them disappear before turning back to Tailgate. “So, would you be serious about going on the cruise tomorrow?”

“I'd like to,” was the eager reply. Yes, he'd regret not going on it with Swerve, but Swerve had gone on to bigger and better things.

“All right. We have reservations for tomorrow. I'll need your communications frequency and a signature on this contract.” She reached into a pocket and withdrew a document pad. “We leave tomorrow morning at standard departure time and I'd hate for you to not show up. So let's go get a drink and you can read this over and sign it.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 25

-o-o-o-o-o-


	25. Chapter 25

Tailgate smiled as the blue cassetticon femme led him excitedly up the gangplank of the White Palace. He was excited too, but at the same time feeling a bit guilty. He'd not told Swerve about the job, and had decided not to... ever. Eventually they would take the cruise together, and he'd pretend to be completely new to it. He could do that.

On meeting the rest of the femme's family, he was happy to see that his client's brother had found Hot Zone and hired him for the trip. Though the surprise had been seeing that the dark green Cybercat had brought a tall, elegant femme along. Even more surprising was that she had the cybercat on a gold-toned leash and was leading him about like a submissive pet. His dark green plating had been oversprayed with a glitter coat and bright green bows had been tied around each ankle. The red optics of yesterday now gleamed yellow. The femme herself was a lovely shade of green that had been decorated with golden studs. A shawl of woven golden fibers draped from her arms. The overall effect was of some throwback to the Golden Age when the wealthy made a show of themselves. Some of the other passengers were asking for image-captures, and the pair not only allowed for it but even posed for their sudden admirers.

Their carrier was with them, a tall host-mech with a third bipedal symbiont, this one not a cassetticon, but a long-range receiver array. He perched upon his carrier's shoulder, the identifying wing-like structures of his alt-mode curling forward over his own shoulders. The carrier, like his four symbionts, all wore the Decepticon insignia. He too had a cruise companion with him—an equally tall though less bulky mech stood next to him, this one also a Decepticon. The receiver array mech seemed to be alone.

Once the ship was underway, the carrier paid Hot Zone and Tailgate their promised thousand credits, and their respective cassettes immediately whisked them off to their cabins below. “See you in the gorge,” giggled the femme to her brother as she unlocked the door and pushed Tailgate inside. He'd had just enough time to see the cat and the green femme disappear into another cabin.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Later on, the family gathered atop the White Palace's upper deck, taking a large, low table and sprawling onto the cushions around it. The green femme lay there with the cybercat half in her lap, the beast rumbling happily as she stroked his head. Review and Replay sat side by side with Hot Zone on his hands and knees propping up their feet. The carrier sat with his companion, shoulders touching and hands entwined as they stared up at the walls of the gorge. The other Decepticon obviously had not been hired for the journey. A tiny bottle of Pollon oil was passed around the table, everyone dripping a little into their joints until it was empty. The femme fussed over the cybercat like a prized pet, dripping in the Pollon oil and stroking him lovingly. And then she stood, tugged at the leash, and made a show of walking him around the deck, pausing to flirt with a few of the other passengers.

Tailgate was sent to fetch drinks for the others. At the bar he found the receiver mech sitting alone, a glass of high-grade in hand and two full glasses at the ready. Three empty glasses sat with them. He stared out at the scenery flowing past without really seeing it. “Are you okay?” asked Tailgate. “Did your date not show?”

The white, green, and gold mech sighed. “I didn't want one.”

“No? Why not? That's a big part of this cruise, isn't it?” Tailgate wondered aloud, before suddenly realizing he might be offending the tiny mech. “I'm sorry. It's none of my business,” he apologized.

The mech threw back the rest of his current drink and turned to face Tailgate. “Not everyone returns from the battles...” he said sadly.

“Oh... Oh I'm so sorry. I really shouldn't have said anything,” Tailgate said, now feeling awful about his pointed question.

“It's okay. I'm here with my family. That's what's important.” His unfocused optics drifted over to the others. To Tailgate's surprise the cassetticon suddenly took Tailgate's hand. “So keep smiling and make sure my sister has a good time,” he said with a sudden and forced cheer. “She was so thrilled to find a cute little minibot like you to go along on this cruise. We all save up to go once every five meta-cycles. Sometimes I think it's what we live for.” He then turned away and grabbed another glass.

Tailgate picked up the tray of drinks the bartender had set in front of him and took them back over to the low table.

Replay got out of the big cushion and grabbed her ordered drink in one hand, and with the other hand she grabbed Tailgate and pushed him down into an unoccupied cushion before stretching out beside him. She was strong despite her diminutive size. Replay kissed him and then took a drink, kissing him again with energon-flavored lips. “So what did Skysight say? Our brother over at the bar.”

“Not much. He seemed a bit... well, a bit depressed.”

“His bondmate died only a stellar-cycle ago. Killed in battle.”

Tailgate tensed. “Oh gosh... He said something about not everyone returning. I guess that's what he was referring to.”

“Yeah. Tragic.”

“Poor guy. I didn't realize it had been something so recent.” Tailgate turned his head to look again at the tiny communications mech sitting alone at the bar, drowning his sorrows in high-grade. Will he be okay?”

“He'll be all right. He still said he'd come even if he just sat around drinking.”

“Poor guy,” Tailgate repeated.

The femme cocked her head. “You're an odd one,” she said, staring at the blue and white minibot.

“Odd?” Tailgate looked flustered. “I'm sorry. Tell me what I'm doing wrong.”

She laughed. “There's nothing wrong. It's just that I'm not paying you to care, but you obviously do.”

“I guess I'm a bit soft-hearted,” Tailgate said embarrassedly. “Sometimes I do care a bit too much.”

The femme laughed and kissed him again. “And then you get taken advantage of.”

“Sometimes, I guess.”

Suddenly Replay leapt upon him, pushing him deep into the cushion. Everyone else at the table began giggling at her antics. “Mmm...I think I'll take advantage of you right here.” Her hand pawed at his array cover.

“Replay, not outside of the cabins. At least not until the return journey when it's dark,” the carrier-mech reminded her.

She laughed. “Of course. Of course.” And then she threw back the rest of her cocktail and whispered into one of Tailgate's audial receptors. “Hurry up and finish your drink and we'll go back to our cabin. This Pollon oil and your cuteness have got me revved up hard. I want to have you again before my brother decides to trade off.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Later just before the ship docked at Ironforge, Tailgate left Replay recharging in their cabin and he made his way back to the upper decks. There was Skysight, still sitting at the bar, his optics focused elsewhere. Tailgate pressed a data slug into his hand. “If you need someone, you can call me. Even if you just need someone to hold.”

Skysight looked at him with optics that didn't want to focus. “Thanks... You're a good mech.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

As the White Palace left the gorge and the crew turned off the deck lights and raised the privacy curtains around the upper decks, Tailgate found himself pressed into a large cushion with Skysight atop him, the tiny mech drunkenly rutting into him. His sister sat beside them, watching her widowed brother loose himself in pleasure. “Thank you, Tailgate,” she whispered, leaning down next to his head. “I think he needed this, and he finally got drunk enough not to care.”

“I still care,” argued Skysight, his vocalizer weak with static. “I just got drunk enough to remember how much I like a good frag.”

The femme laughed and patted her brother's shoulder, and then she smiled at Tailgate. “I'll pay you extra for him. It wasn't in our contract that you'd service him as well.”

“You don't have to,” Tailgate answered, looking up at the femme as he returned the smile. “Sometimes I don't mind being taken advantage of.”

“You're such a sweetie,” she purred and leaned in to kiss him.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 26

-o-o-o-o-o-


	26. Chapter 26

“Swerve! This place is amazing!” said Tailgate to Swerve in an excited whisper as the rental agent left them alone on the balcony. For them it would be a balcony with a fabulous view of the neighborhood. For flight-types it was a highly convenient landing pad and entrance. Looking over at the neighboring balcony they could see the telltale scorch marks of frequent thruster fire. “But I'm not sure we can afford it. Eight thousand credits a deca-cycle? That's more than twice what we're paying right now.”

“Sure we can, Tailgate. I've got a stable income now and look how well you've been doing out there on Seventh Cycle Street.

“I only do well when you're there, Swerve. You're much better at figuring out what to charge and how to deal with the clients.”

Swerve put his hand on the other mech's shoulder. “Hey, you don't need me out there pimping for you. You just smile and look pretty and quote the prices like I've been doing.”

“I'm still not sure about this place though Swerve. We don't need somewhere this fancy.”

Swerve smiled. “Hey, relax. This place isn't that fancy. And it's a good price for an upper level apartment. It's just way nicer and way cooler than that miserable little box we've been living in. Want to go see the berthroom again? Imagine the fun we could have together in that bed. Like old times, except that we'll have a berth instead of the floor.”

“Swerve, when's the last time you and I 'faced? We haven't since coming to Kaon.”

“That's going to change though. You'll get a real job and you'll be ready to start 'facing for fun again instead of money.”

Tailgate sighed. “I suppose. But still I'm just not completely sure we can afford this place.”

“We can. I ran the numbers. And we're going to love living here.” He turned and led Tailgate into the main room. The rental agent was sitting at the built-in desk near the door going through his briefcase. “We'll have friends over and have fabulous parties... and think of how great that view is going to look at night. It will be like living at that restaurant we went to.”

“I suppose...” sighed Tailgate. “If you really think we can make it work.”

“We can. Just wait and see.”

“Well?” asked the agent.

“We'll take it.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 27

-o-o-o-o-o-


	27. Chapter 27

“Open for me,” the brown minibot said, tapping at Tailgate's chestplates.

“What?”

“Open for me. I want to touch sparks.”

Tailgate made a choking noise. “I don't. I don't do that.”

The minibot looked at him with a strange expression. “What do you mean 'you don't'? All the street mechs down here in Overdock do.”

Tailgate began to wonder if somehow he'd been missing something he was supposed to be offering clients. But no. That couldn't be right. Who would make themselves so vulnerable? “It's too personal. Too dangerous.”

“It's not dangerous,” the client protested. “Not between minibots it isn't. Who told you that it was dangerous? C'mon, open up. It'll feel so good.”

“No,” Tailgate said firmly. “You can have my valve. You can have my spike. You can have my mouth. But not that.”

“I've had all them, and it's time for more,” asked the brown minibot with a tone of incredulousness. “What? Are you being a little prude? Let's merge.”

“No I'm not being a prude. I just don't touch sparks.”

The client groaned. “I can't believe this. Well how much do I have to pay you to change your mind? Hmm? What will it take to get you to open up for me?”

Tailgate huffed, finding himself growing annoyed. “Stop asking. I'm not going to.” He'd not even shared with Swerve, the mech he trusted most.

“Another three hundred credits? Hmmm? That's a nice add-on, isn't it?”

“No.” Tailgate started to extract himself from beneath the brown minibot. “I'm not that way.”

“Why not? What's your problem? All the others do it, and I don't even have to pay them extra.”

Tailgate had never heard of any of the other prostitutes selling their sparks, except for the black-ice junkies. And they weren't even real prostitutes. They were the lost ones who had nothing to live for but their next hit. Most worked without a license and were trouble waiting to happen. He managed to get out of the bed and grabbed out his towel to wipe himself off with quickly.

“Hey! What do you think you're doing. Get back on the berth.”

“I'm leaving. If you can't respect my boundaries, I'm not going to service you,” Tailgate replied.

“You can't leave. My time's not up yet.”

“I'm not going to touch sparks, and you won't drop it, so I'm going.”

“What? Because of that?”

“Yes.”

Tailgate tucked away his towel and went for the door, but as he reached for the keypad to unlock it the other mech jumped out of the bed and grabbed him. “Now get back on the berth and open up for me. I paid good money for you and I will get what I want,” he demanded, twisting Tailgate's arm uncomfortably.

Tailgate's annoyance suddenly turned to fear. “Leave me alone!” he cried.

“Give me your spark. I want it.”

Tailgate reached for the door again but the other minibot pulled him away and shoved him onto the berth. “Let me go! Leave me alone!” he cried as the mech leaned over him, pinning his arms down.

“Open for me, you stupid little slut.” The brown mech began fumbling for the manual catches that would release Tailgate's outer plating.

“Stop that!” Tailgate whined, struggling against the client. He now knew he had to get away and get away fast.

“Lie still, you whore! I'm not letting you out of here until I get what I want!”

And despite Tailgate's struggling and swatting the mech managed to open one side of his chest. Tailgate screamed and flailed and kicked, managing to fall off the berth and slam his chest closed again, but there was something caught in it and the catches wouldn't catch properly.

Someone in the room next door pounded on the wall. “Quiet down in there!”

“Help! Someone help me!” Tailgate shouted.

“Shut up! Take care of your own problems!” came the voice in angry response.

Tailgate was now fighting to keep his chest closed while his attacker fought to open it. Scared and knowing no help would be forthcoming, he somehow managed to deliver a sharp blow to the other mech's head, bashing the base of an antenna. 

The mech screeched and the neighbor pounded again on the wall and somehow Tailgate was able to get to his feet and out the door. He ran for the stairwell, not risking what might be a wait for the elevator.

Behind him the brown minibot had found his balance and had staggered into the hallway. “Get back here, you dirty whore! I'm not done with your miserable aft yet! And you'll pay for punching me!” He ran for the top of the stairwell and continued to holler abuse and threats and insults at Tailgate.

Tailgate burst from the Overdock Lodger and in a panic ran across the street and between the payday revelers, ducking into an alley after passing through a larger crowd. Hiding in a dark doorway, he clutched at his rattling chestplate and tried to calm himself. He wanted to go home, back to the new apartment with the view, to stand on the balcony and sip energon wine and enjoy a fantasy that the downside of his life couldn't harm him. A fantasy that everything was going to be all right eventually.

But he couldn't.

It was the first day of payday. He couldn't give up now. He already had eighteen-fifty in his pocket and the night was still young. He tried to talk himself into a false security—that he'd not see the brown minibot again. And that was fairly likely. If he stuck to the busier areas. If he kept away from the Lodger. If he only took mechs he knew to be safe.

It had to be that way. He had to take risks. He couldn't go about acting like one of the spoiled denizens of a Kaon Riverside pleasure palace. He had to be brave and face the fact that things weren't the best, and that nothing would ever be as good as his life at the academy in Pescus Hex had been.

Tailgate cycled the cool night air through his systems a few times, got his chest closed properly, wiped off his face, put on a smile, and stepped out onto the sidewalk again.

“Tailgate!” was the immediate cry. He turned with a startled gasp, every strut tense, only to breathe a sigh of relief when he saw Gamma walking up to him. “Hey! What are you doing down at this end of Seventh?” she asked with a smile. “Of course I'm not usually around here either.”

“Hiding from a rough client. Stay away from brown minibots tonight.”

Her happy expression fell. “Oh Tailgate, are you okay?” Her optics dipped to search for damage to his frame.

“I managed to get out of there before he hurt me.”

“Oh Tailgate. What happened? No wait. Don't tell me yet. Let's go have some high-grade first.” She tugged off her black wires and then his before pulling him into the closest tavern and to back area of the bar. The two hopped up onto the barstools and the bartender had a drink menu in front of them faster than a racer on his final lap.

Less than two kliks later Gamma and Tailgate were sipping River Green and holding hands while Tailgate told her what had happened. “At least you escaped, and we know who to watch out for. Would you like to go back to our apartment and rest?” she asked.

“I can't. I've got to make rent.”

Gamma smiled. “Then hang with me. We'll keep together as much as possible tonight. Give some good deals for hiring the both of us.”

Tailgate smiled back at the femme. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, cutie.”

“Sure thing, sweetie,” he laughed back weakly, drawing courage from her. And together they headed back out to Seventh Cycle Street.

-o-o-o-o-o- 

"Understood" continues in Chapter 28

-o-o-o-o-o-


	28. Chapter 28

Tailgate put the finishing touches to his plating before heading out for the night. It was an endless cycle of combat. He would go out with pristine plating and come home covered with scuffs and scratches and small dents. And they had to be taken care of. A battered mech was not an attractive mech, and one had to stay attractive to lure in the better customers. But damage to one's appearance was a fact of the job. 

There came the sound of several jets from the balcony next door. Their neighbors, a trine of seekers, had just come home. The three flyboys looked upon them with some disdain for being grounders but were pleasant enough. The three were quiet, save for their arrivals and exits—they roared in and out of their apartment at all hours.

The front door opened just as Tailgate headed to the energon dispenser for his evening fill up.

Swerve came in with three other mechs, all with West Kaon Third Munitions Factory, Department #7 badges on their shoulders. “Hey! Tailgate!” called Swerve. “I'm glad you're still here. These are some of the other guys in my department.” He pointed at the three in sequence. “Boulder, Dash, and that's Chase heading for the energon.”

“Hey, I'm drained. Long shift, you know,” laughed the red mech. “You don't mind, do you?”

Swerve laughed. “Of course not. Just save some room for high-grade.”

“Hey Swerve,” said the yellow-brown mech introduced as Boulder as he sat upon the couch. “You didn't tell us your roomie was so cute. Pretty even...”

Both Swerve and Tailgate laughed lightly.

“So how close are you two? Because if you aren't...” The bulky mech grinned at the blue and white minibot.

“Hands off, Boulder,” Swerve cautioned playfully.

Boulder sighed with half-feigned disappointment. “Such a shame. Well if things change between you two, let me know.”

Tailgate handed Chase a full cup of energon. “Here you are.”

“Thank you.” The red mech took it, optics roving Tailgate to see what his co-worker found so appealing.

“He's so gracious too...” 

“Boulder...”

The brown mech laughed. “I didn't take you for the jealous sort, Swerve.”

“Maybe I am,” he laughed as Swerve took a seat beside Boulder.

Tailgate grabbed a second cup and filled it for himself.

“Don't mind Boulder,” Chase said to Tailgate. “He'll hit on anything with wings or wheels, and his aim is as lousy as Shockwave's.”

Tailgate couldn't help but laugh at the comparison. “That bad?” All of Kaon knew the scientist's reputation.

“Pretty close to it.”

Tailgate shut off the energon flow and dropped his mask to drink. As he lifted the cup to his lips, Chase gave him a little toast, and then drank with him. Unlike Swerve's guest though, he emptied his quickly and made for the door. “See you later, Swerve.”

“Have a good night, dear,” Swerve said pointedly.

“You're leaving?” asked Dash.

“We just got here,” said Chase.

“I work... ah... I...” Tailgate stuttered.

“He works the night shift over in Kaon Bridges,” lied Swerve quickly.

“Well that's too bad. Thought we might have a game of Quintesson Poker since there were five of us,” Dash suggested.

“Oh... that would be nice, but I need to work..” said Tailgate. “Sorry to leave just as the party's starting.” He took a quick look in the mirror by the door and then headed out with a wave “Have fun everyone! Without me. Sorry.” Tailgate headed off quickly.

Outside of the apartment building, Tailgate transformed with a sigh and headed off for Overdock.

Maybe he should have stayed. Swerve's friends from work seemed pretty nice, and he'd heard all three mentioned before. He'd laughed when a red mech named Chase had been mentioned. There was always a red or blue mech named Chase.

But work called. Rent would be due soon, and he didn't have quite enough to cover his share. Repairs to a leaking ankle strut had taken a big chunk out of his income this deca-cycle. And it had been his turn to fill the energon dispenser.

By the time he got to Seventh Cycle Street, Tailgate was fretting enough that his fingers were twitching. He transformed and took up his post in front of the Old Kaon Tavern, showrooming his freshly-polished frame. And happily it wasn't long before a needy Decepticon wandered over, red visor scanning him up and down. “Got a couple cycles?” he asked.

“All yours, if you're interested,” said the minibot, gesturing to himself suggestively. He leaned back upon the the streetlight's post.

“How about seven-hundred credits for two cycles?” asked the mech.

“Perfect,” Tailgate agreed. “You've been around here before. You knew what I was going to ask.”

“I've gotten used to things down here.” The mech—some sort of tank-former—looked over at the Swinging Gate. “How about a drink and then go upstairs.”

“If you're buying,” smiled Tailgate, flashing his nice lips.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 29

-o-o-o-o-o-


	29. Chapter 29

“Chase hasn't stopped asking about you since the other night after you left.” Swerve cuddled a little closer. “At least until we told him we'd start calling him a stalker, or obsessed.”

“Chase? Not Boulder?”

“Well Boulder asks too, but you seem to have made a good impression on Chase.”

I guess he was really taken with me.” And then Tailgate sighed sadly. “If... if things were different, maybe I'd date him. Maybe more.” Suddenly he stiffened. “You didn't tell him?”

“Of course not. Better for him not to know. And once you find a factory job, everything will change. They're now talking about expanding departments nine through fourteen, you know.” Swerve planted a kiss on the side of Tailgate's mask.

“They're always talking about expanding. They're always talking about opening more munitions plants. And yet...”

Swerve silenced his best friend with another kiss. “Shhhh... don't get yourself worked up. This is the first chance I've had in ages to hold you in bed.”

Tailgate sighed again. “Only because I couldn't find any customers last night and came home early.”

“Their loss. My win.” Swerve's hand came up and pushed at Tailgate's mask. It slid away almost automatically, and Swerve's fingers traced the pretty silver lips hidden beneath. 

“My loss, is more like it.” He looked up at Swerve guiltily. “Swerve, I'm still short nine hundred credits for this deca-cycle's rent.” And as he said it, he wondered if perhaps it would have been better if Boulder or Chase had found out he was a prostitute. Maybe then one of them would have hired him and he'd have the money.

“You'll get it. I'm not worried.”

“I have one more night before rent's due.”

“I'll cover for you. You know I will,” Swerve purred, fingers moving on from his lips to his cheeks.

“You cover for me far too much.”

“You're my best friend. Why shouldn't I?”

“I'm just not as good out there without you. We were such a good partnership. A pair of minibots is so much better than one. And you were always so good at bargaining and setting up the deals.”

“I know. But you're doing okay. And we all know things haven't been the same out there for a while now.”

Suddenly Tailgate sobbed. “Swerve, I'm worried. I keep hoping the economy will get better, but all the backlash against Kaon after the destruction of Praxus three meta-cycles ago... People haven't been spending as much lately. I don't know how much longer I can keep trying to come up with the money. And what if something were to happen to you? Or to me?”

Swerve pressed his fingertips to Tailgate's mouth. “Shhh... Don't worry. Live for today. If we ever have to go back to the work camp, at least we will have known this. A beautiful apartment. Repairs when needed. Enough fuel and even high-grade.”

Tailgate allowed Swerve to continue stroking and soothing him. “I suppose. We came to Kaon with nothing, and maybe we'll leave it with nothing.”

“We'll be okay, Tailgate. We've got each other, right?”

“I suppose that's most important.”

Swerve smiled. “We'll take care of each other.”

“Of course.”

Swerve made long strokes over the blue and white mech's frame. “Would you let me 'face you? Keep me from getting out of practice? Just in case I have to go back out on the streets someday again.”

Tailgate giggled, pushing his fears aside. “If you really want to. We haven't since we came to Kaon, have we?”

“No, and I miss it.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 30

-o-o-o-o-o-


	30. Chapter 30

Tailgate stood at the riverside where the main quay was rooted in the embankment, leaning upon the railing and looking out across the water, its grey surface whipped into small waves by the wind. He and a few others had decided to try showrooming out here in hopes of luring a few clients when the industrial dockyards closed for the day. It had worked for Shine, who'd been taken home by one of the dockworkers only a breem after the closing whistle sounded. But then Shine found plenty of clients due to her uncommon beauty—beauty enough to work in the houses in Lower Kaon. She probably would have been working at one were it not for the fact she was missing an arm.

But a cycle had passed since the workplaces had let out for the day and Tailgate trudged back to Seventh Cycle Street, mask down and smiling hopefully at passers-by. It had been lonely without Swerve around and he'd not found anyone to partner up with. This past payday had been a loss. In the deca-cycle before, the Enforcers had cracked down on the black ice dealers that had been proliferating in Overdock, along with a simultaneous sweep of unlicensed streetwalkers. And while neither directly applied to Tailgate or his clientele, the publicity had been bad and a lot of mechs stayed away from the district. Instead of the usual four to six thousand credits he usually made over the three days he'd brought in a measly twenty-two hundred. This was bad.

Really bad.

He'd hoped that things would pick up after the Enforcers announced they were pulling out—that having been two days before payday. But still Seventh Cycle Street was nearly empty. And it wasn't just the streetwalkers suffering either. The taverns and houses and hotels were suffering as well. Worse yet, winter and its lean season were on the way.

How was he going to make rent? The apartment was lovely, and he enjoyed living there, but it really was proving too much of a strain on his budget. He already owed Swerve nine thousand credits. If he fueled sparingly and there were no surprises, five or six more decent clients would allow him to squeak by. But that wouldn't pay off Swerve. If only things had been better on payday. If only Cyclonus hadn't been so noticeably absent. For once he probably would have done better in the workcamps.

He found his post at the Old Kaon Tavern and leaned against the railing as always. Five or six more. Don't look desperate. Don't look like you need the money. Smile and look attractive. Be a tease.

After two cycles the sound of a descending flyer made him look up from the novel he was reading to distract himself, one he'd found left lying on a bench the previous day. And then he recognized the flyer landing right in front of him, cringing as he did. The jets belonged to the blue and orange seeker—the workmate of Cyclonus' that had taken him and Swerve back to his place for three cycles of humiliation and abuse.

“Hey, Tailgate,” he called, dropping into the street in front of the minibot. “Hey, I was hoping to find you here.”

“Oh, hello. I was just heading in for the night,” Tailgate said, trying to hide his anxiety.

The seeker cocked a brow-ridge. “Already? It's so early.”

“Well yes, but I... ah... I have things to get to.” He tucked away the datapad and turned to go, but the seeker caught his arm as he passed. “Are you sure? I was hoping for some of your time tonight. We had so much fun before, you and your partner. And I've got more ideas for us this time.” His dark grey hand reached up and stroked tenderly across Tailgate's faceplate, and Tailgate suddenly regretted not having closed his mask. “Such a pretty thing. So sweet and innocent-looking.”

Tailgate stepped back. “I have to go. Sorry.”

“No, wait. Let's go have a drink together. Where's your partner? Invite him along too.”

Tailgate froze. A drink...? If he could get a cube of high-grade that would be enough to keep him going for four days. A couple more drinks would keep him in good shape for an orn. He would be safe just having a drink, wouldn't he? “I... I would like a drink.”

The seeker smiled. “Come then.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

The blue and orange seeker waved to the waitress at the Old Kaon Tavern again. “Which one this time?” she asked, displaying her tray of colorful cubes. “Or would you like to order something special again?”

“Bring us another couple Phase Shifters,” instructed the seeker, leaning back into the tavern booth.

“Sure thing,” she said with a slight curtsy and walked back to the bar.

The seeker focused his attention on Tailgate. “So Tailgate... let's talk business. How about I take you somewhere and you and I have some fun.”

Tailgate looked up at the seeker, his optics bright and hazy with charge. How many drinks had he downed? He'd lost track after the second cube of high-grade. His tank was full for once, and he was enjoying the pleasant warmth of a building overcharge. And the Phase Shifter cocktails were amazing. Was that really a thin slick of Pollon oil across the top of them? That had to make them expensive. “I'm not interested,” he said. “You were... you were really rough with my partner and I. We're not built to take that kind of treatment.”

The seeker looked off to the side with the grace to put on an ashamed expression. “I do get rather enthusiastic...”

“We were hurting afterward.”

“I apologize for that. You didn't need any medical repairs, did you?”

“Not enough to warrant a trip to a doctor.”

The seeker sighed with almost a dramatic flourish. “I'll be the first to admit that I'm not gentle when it comes to my desires.” And then he leaned in again, placing a silvery credit chip on the table in front of Tailgate.

Tailgate stared at the little thing. He'd only twice before seen a ten-thousand credit chip. 

Take that to the bartender and have him verify it.”

“It looks real.”

“Do it,” insisted the blue seeker with a smirk. “I trust you.”

Tailgate hesitantly picked up the chip and took it to the bar, where the keeper looked at him with some surprise on being asked to verify it. “Your lucky night?” he asked the minibot with a smile.

“It's not mine,” Tailgate answered.

In a moment the verification came in. “It's good. Issued by the Decepticon paymaster himself. Your friend there's living well. Want me to break it?”

Tailgate just shook his head.

The bartender handed it back with an expression of slight confusion, and Tailgate returned to the booth, setting the chip back down in front of the seeker. “It's valid.”

“Valid, and yours for your time tonight.”

Tailgate's head snapped up. “Ten thousand credits!?”

“It does involve me being rough with you though. I will let you know that in advance.”

Tailgate continued to stare at the chip. Ten thousand was what the seeker had paid the last time for both he and Swerve. With frantic speed he tried to tap into his memory to see what exactly had been so bad previously.

The blue and orange seeker leaned forward onto the table, smiling wickedly at Tailgate. “Would ten-thousand credits be worth a few dents and a few burned out sensors? And here...” He placed a couple of thousand-credit chips down as well. “That should get you cleaned up nicely afterward.”

Tailgate's fingers twitched beneath the tabletop. That money would pay off Swerve and he'd have enough for this month's rent. He could start with a clean slate once again.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 31

-o-o-o-o-o-


	31. Chapter 31

“Swerve... please answer,” Tailgate mewled in a weak voice. “Swerve... I really need you right now...”

Tailgate waited, shaking and dripping with a variety of fluids—most of them his. His left arm refused to respond to any attempt to use it. The pain in his valve and elsewhere was not diminishing although he knew every repair nanite in his body was at work. When a breem had passed he tried to 'comm Swerve again. And again he waited.

With much discomfort he rose and walked again around the cold and windy rooftop the seeker had chosen—chosen and then abandoned him on after their session. And still finding no way down he pondered what to do, trying not to panic over the state he was in. He could call the Enforcers, but that would just lead to a lot of humiliating questions, as if he weren't humiliated enough already. He could keep waiting for Swerve to answer—surely Swerve wouldn't be gone all night. He could wait until morning and flag a flight frame down, though would anyone even agree to get him down in the miserable state he was in. He was hurting an awful lot and just wanted to get home and clean up and put something on what was probably an entrance to end tear in the mesh of his valve. He wondered if there was anyone else he could send, but on scrolling through his list of contacts he realized most of them were long gone and far from Kaon anyway. And why didn't he have Gamma's or Hot Zone's contact frequency? They were the closest thing he had to friends on Seventh Cycle Street, and Gamma had been nice enough to come his aid before.

And then Cyclonus' name drifted past.

He moved to send a message, but then hesitated. Cyclonus was just a client, one whose comm' frequency he happened to have. Not a friend. The Decepticon officer certainly wouldn't want to be disturbed by some pathetic little beaten-up prostitute calling in the middle of the night needing a ride somewhere.

Two more breems passed, and he limped around the roof of the building yet again, whimpering with every step, hoping to find a previously unnoticed stairwell or ladder or something. No wonder the seeker had chosen this location in the half-abandoned industrial Southlands—they wouldn't be disturbed. The lights of Kaon glowed in the distance.

Tailgate lay down on the rough rooftop, trying to position himself as comfortably as he could, trying to find faith that Swerve would suddenly find the messages and rush to his aid. His left arm still refused to move. The warnings of low fuel and notably low coolant levels and dangerously low transfluid pressure levels grew ever more insistent. “Swerve, please...” he sobbed.

In desperation Tailgate comm'ed Cyclonus Chances were the jet wouldn't answer anyway.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 32

-o-o-o-o-o-


	32. Chapter 32

Tailgate roused when he felt someone jostling him, picking him up apparently. “Swerve... let me sleep. I had a rough night,” he mumbled. And then he felt himself being placed somewhere warm and tight, his frame being folded up to fit. “Ow... not so fast. I had a rough customer.” And then things grew still and silent and he was left alone. “Mmm. That's much better,” he murmured. “Nice and warm.” Then he felt and heard jets roar to life somewhere behind him. The neighbors must be having friends over again. He was jostled a little in his cozy cocoon, but then it evened out, only to be replaced with the feeling of flying, as if he were aboard a shuttle. But it wasn't bad—the dip and roll of motion and the wonderful sensation of flight was pleasant. He was drifting back into recharge when suddenly that ceased and his cocoon opened and he was discharged into a pair of large hands.

“Swerve, stop waking me up,” he complained, refusing to online his optics. They didn't want to online anyway. “I need to get some recharge. And then you can have the rent money.”

“He seems a bit delirious,” said a voice that wasn't Swerve's.

“Cortical coolant loss?” asked another voice, one that sounded like Cyclonus'. Was his favorite client here?

“Probably.”

Tailgate felt himself jostled and bumped around a bit, finally ending up on a surface that felt like a poorly padded berth. And then what felt like a thermal blanket being pulled over his frame.

“You did this to him?” asked the voice that was neither Swerve's nor Cyclonus'.

“Of course I didn't,” growled Cyclonus indignantly.

“Just asking.”

The blanket was pulled away from his side and hands moved his still functioning arm. When Tailgate tried to pull it back under the blanket he found it trapped. He whimpered a cry of protest, only to find a hand pressed soothingly to his forehead. “Shhhh... you'll be fine,” hushed Cyclonus. “Just lie still.”

“Cyclonus?” Tailgate ventured.

“Yes. It's me. I'm here.”

A sharp pain suddenly struck inside of his entrapped arm, followed by a growing sensation of cold from the spot it had struck.

“Cyclonus?! What's going on?” Tailgate gasped, slightly more coherent now.

“You'll be fine Tailgate. I got your message.”

“My message?” The sensation of cold spread to his chest and he felt himself falling into a dark pit.

“I came for you,” huffed the voice as Tailgate was consumed by darkness.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 33

-o-o-o-o-o-


	33. Chapter 33

Tailgate woke to the sensation of a hand stroking his forehead. But when he moved the hand pulled away and he heard the sound of someone moving away from him.

With a bit of shifting he realized he was in a berth. A nice berth. It smelled pleasant and had an exceptionally springy, exceptionally soft pad beneath him. It was much like the berth back at the Harbor House. Only this one seemed to be inside a room rather than open to the sky. The sound of the wind and the distant traffic below was missing.

He onlined his optics to a plain residential ceiling warm with the glow of sunlight. And then Cyclonus came into view. Tailgate immediately dropped his mask and smiled. Seeing Cyclonus' scowl was always a good thing. It meant money and comforts and a decent frag in which he could count on at least one overload.

And then the memories of the previous night came to the forefront of his mind. A cold dark rooftop. A sadistic blue seeker. Pain. A lot of pain and fluids. Regrets. Trying to call Swerve for help. Calling Cyclonus in desperation. He sat up suddenly, only to be knocked back down by the pain's resurfacing. “Oww...” he whimpered, clutching himself.

“Lie still. You took some serious damage last night and you're still healing. You'll be healing for quite a while, in fact.”

Tailgate lifted just his head and took in more of the room. Dark, simple furniture. Large empty space. Purple curtains. Launching balcony outside a large glass door. “Where am I?”

“You're in my quarters on the Decepticon base.”

“You brought me here?”

“I took you to a doctor and then brought you here. Otherwise you'd still be lying in a pool of your own fluids atop that abandoned building, probably in deep stasis at this point. Do I even want to know what happened?” he asked gruffly.

Tailgate turned his head to the side. “A guy offered me twelve thousand credits for an abduction and rape scenario. I said yes.” It was embarrassing enough to admit what he'd done, and he certainly wasn't going to mention that the one who'd assaulted him was one of the officer's own kind.

Cyclonus grimaced and leaned over him aggressively. “Whatever were you thinking? You risked your well-being and possibly your life for twelve thousand credits?”

“I had to.”

“Had to? You never have to say yes to an offer. I shouldn't have to be telling you this,” Cyclonus growled. “You needed a lot of work last night. When I got there you were about bled out and couldn't even think straight. You're just lucky the medic here owed me a big favor because I'm sure you needed more than twelve thousand credits worth of repairs.”

“I was damaged that much?” Tailgate gasped. “It was just a bad mesh-tear, wasn't it? And a wrenched arm, right?”

“It was a lot more than a mesh tear and strained cables. You and your stupid greed. I thought you were smarter than that,” huffed the big jet. “Look where it's gotten you. Almost bled out. Almost in stasis. Your left arm almost torn off—its hydraulics shot. Who knows how long you would have been on top of that building.”

Tears suddenly dripped out of the blue and white mech's optics and the words spilled along with them. “I wasn't trying to be greedy,” he protested.

“Then why?” Cyclonus stared at him menacingly.

“I owe Swerve back rent. After he got his new job we got a new apartment that costs twice what our old one did, but he's had to pay part of my share the past three deca-cycles,” Tailgate wept as he spilled his worries. “I've not had much luck lately and I didn't want to keep owing him so... so I took the job. I feel bad that Swerve's been doing this, and I was afraid of just getting deeper and deeper in his debt. He said it doesn't bother him but I know it does. But now I can pay him. I was paid for last night, but I guess... I guess I owe the money to you now. You rescued me.” Tailgate rolled onto his side, tears running abundantly from his optics. “I don't know what I'm going to do. I was always so afraid of something like this happening, and now it has.”

The tall purple mech vented and turned toward the door. “We'll figure something out. Get some recharge. Your body still has a lot of healing to do,” he said patiently and walked out of the room.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 34

-o-o-o-o-o-


	34. Chapter 34

Tailgate found the message from Cyclonus after waking alone in the darkened apartment. The Decepticon officer was in a series of meetings all day and would return later. There was plenty of energon in the dispenser and high-grade in the cabinet if something stronger was needed. The doctor's instructions were on the datapad next to the berth along with the nanite boosters that had been prescribed.

There were also several other panicked messages from Swerve, wondering where he was and what had happened and that he'd found the rooftop empty except for a lot of paint scrapes and fluid stains. Quickly Tailgate responded that he had been rescued and would try to get home soon.

Tailgate found he could get out the berth if he moved slowly. And moving slowly into the other room he found the energon dispenser and fueled up. He pulled the credit chips from his subspace and stared at them. Twelve thousand was a lot of money. It would cover what he owed Swerve as well as half of this deca-cycle's rent.

But he was right. He owed it to Cyclonus for rescuing him and getting him repaired. He tried not to think of the fact that twelve thousand credits was probably nothing to the purple mech, or that his energon and quarters were given to him by his employer, or that his employer's money came from the conquest and pillage of Cybertron.

But nothing was ever free.

Tailgate placed the money on the berth where he'd been lying and let himself out of the apartment.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 35

-o-o-o-o-o-


	35. Chapter 35

Tailgate forced himself to smile as the blue and white grounder approached. The colors this one wore were similar to his own. “Hey there. Looking for a little fun?” He ran his glossa over his lower lip component suggestively. He'd seen Swerve do it. Maybe it would work for him.

“You're a pretty one,” said the grounder.

“So they tell me,” Tailgate said coyly.

The mech took another appraising look up and down the small frame, and then focused on Tailgate's faceplate. “You'd look prettier with my spike in your mouth.”

“I would, wouldn't I?”

“My spike makes any faceplate look prettier, especially when it's got my transfluid smeared all over it. Let's go get a room, cutie.” Inwardly Tailgate breathed a sigh of relief. He still had four more days of rest prescribed until his valve would be considered fully healed. But he'd decided to take the risk tonight. He still owed Swerve, and he still owed rent. And he'd lost six days already to that dreadful seeker. At least Swerve had been sympathetic and had even lowered Tailgate's share of the rent. It didn't make Tailgate feel any better about how things were going though.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 36

-o-o-o-o-o-


	36. Chapter 36

“Tailgate!” came the angry voice as the two mechs left the Swinging Gate, both of them flinching. “There you are!”

The other mech turned and ran on seeing the tall purple mech striding toward them. Tailgate stood frozen to the spot in terror.

“Tailgate! Where have you been?! Why haven't you answered my comm's?” growled Cyclonus.

“Cyclonus! I... I...” His optics darted about for an escape route, but the moment he turned to transform and bolt away two long arms swept down and scooped him up, the small mech bobbling in his arms and unable to transform all the way. Cloudcover and Fastfire, standing across the narrow street, were laughing hysterically.

“What ever are you doing working? I assume that was no doctor I just saw you coming out of the hotel with,” Cyclonus demanded of the mech now struggling in his arms. “Calm down!” he hissed.

Obediently Tailgate went limp.

“That's better.” He set Tailgate down but kept one hand firmly on part of his shoulder flares as he crouched. “You're supposed to be resting. And why haven't you answered me?”

“Because... I... Well...”

Cyclonus turned and looked across the street at Cloudcover and Fastfire, fixing them with a cold stare. The two ceased their laughter immediately and withdrew nervously. Everyone knew the purple warrior had a thing for this particular minibot and was likely to defend him.

“I was embarrassed,” came the excuse.

“Embarrassed? How can a prostitute be embarrassed?” Cyclonus huffed, straightening up and putting his hands on his hips.

“I still have some dignity,” he sobbed. And then seeing his opening, Tailgate ran for the alley, tiny feet clattering over the rough pavement.

“Tailgate! Get back here!” was the angry shout behind him.

Tailgate figured he could lose Cyclonus in the narrow passages between the buildings—dark, winding passages that only the locals knew how to navigate. For a while he was able to stay ahead, running a jagged path through cluttered and dirty alleys, but somewhere along the line he made a wrong turn and found himself on an open street. He looked behind him, wondering if he'd lost his pursuer. And then looked up the street to see where he might duck back into the maze or perhaps hide in a doorway or a utility alcove.

But suddenly and silently Cyclonus was upon him, snagging him with strong arms and clawed fingertips once more.

“Leave me alone,” Tailgate screeched, squirming violently as the big mech lifted him. A couple of passers-by looked on with concerned expressions, but Cyclonus' glare only convinced them that they should be concerned about something else.

Cyclonus held Tailgate tightly to his chest trying to still him. “Tailgate, you're supposed to be resting still. Not working.”

The squirming became tearful sobbing. “I have to work,” he cried. “If I don't work I'll go under. So just let me go and leave me alone, unless you're buying.”

Cyclonus rumbled a laugh at the minibot's tenacity. “Fine then. I'm buying.” He walked over to a low wall nearby and sat upon it, gently releasing one of the arms around his prisoner. He dug into a pocket and brought out a few credit chips, forcing them into Tailgate's hand. “There. You've been paid. Now stop squirming and talk to me.”

Tailgate unwound into his lap, trembling and fighting the tears and trying to smile. And then he suddenly realized his mask was up and dropped it quickly. But immediately he felt vulnerable and exposed, and found his emotions swaying back the other way. How could he continue to pursue business with Cyclonus after what had happened? The smile fell and he tried to wiggle away.

“Tailgate, you've not been answering my comm's or responding to my messages.” His remaining arm tightened against the minibot's overheated frame. “Is this why? Because you've been working? You're already back on the streets? You know that the doctor told you that you'd be in no shape for it for an orn.”

“That doctor of yours cut off my advertising wires and threw them away,” he whined. “I had a hard time getting a new license tag from the registrations bureau. And of course my previous tags were on them so now that I just have one mechs think I'm some upstart and won't know what to do,” Tailgate complained. Ever since the crackdown in Overdock the streetwalkers had taken to wearing their licensing tags strung on their advertising wires. The more a mech sported on his bundle the more likely he was to attract customers.

“That doctor is a fine medic—one of the few Decepticon medics I'd actually trust with my spark. He kept you from suffering much worse damage if you'd bled out or gone into stasis.”

Tailgate sighed. “Maybe I should have just gone into stasis and let the scavengers have me for parts. It would have saved everyone a lot of trouble. Swerve was so upset and angry. I cost you a favor. And now I'm worse off than where I'd started.”

“So you made a bad decision regarding a client. Albeit a very bad decision. That's all. But you're still alive. You still have your frame, and it's fully repaired. You weren't found by chop-mechs and you still have friends.”

“Friends? I only have Swerve. But I still owe him, big time,” Tailgate interjected. “But at least payday's in five days. I'll be able to make up some of it to him after that.”

“You'll be in no shape for payday if you don't rest now,” Cyclonus countered.

“I'm not using my valve. I'll be fine.”

“More than your valve was damaged,” said Cyclonus angrily. “Your client, or should I say your abuser, did a lot more than rip up your valve. We've been through this.”

“I'll be fine. I had only one customer yesterday, and just one today, and they just wanted their spikes sucked. So stop worrying about me. I can take care of myself... mostly.”

Cyclonus growled threateningly. “Is it so wrong for me to worry about you? Kaon isn't exactly a friendly place for a refugee.”

Tailgate froze. A single sob escaped his vocalizer. “I'm not worth worrying about, especially not by someone like you, at least.” And then he realized he was still clutching the money Cyclonus had given him. He opened his hand to look. Twelve-thousand credits...

Cyclonus snorted. Then he reached down and closed Tailgate's fingers back up again. “Why am I not allowed to worry about you? Is it because I'm a Decepticon? Is it because you're not from Kaon? Is it because of my rank?”

When Tailgate didn't answer, Cyclonus rolled his sharp fingertips forward so that they poked hard and uncomfortably into the minibot's midsection. “Why?”

“Because I'm just a prostitute and you're just a somewhat frequent client,” Tailgate blurted. “We can't be anything else. I can't expect anything else. Not affection. Not even friendship. Isn't that understood?”

“Just a client? That's what I am to you?” Cyclonus asked calmly.

In tears again, Tailgate nodded.

Cyclonus vented heavily and sat for a moment thinking. “Fine. Then that's how it will be,” he said eventually.

With resignation he stood, setting Tailgate down, and then transformed.

Tailgate gasped at seeing Cyclonus' alt-mode—he never had before—and he was amazed at the beautiful sleek lines and powerful-looking build. He was so much more than any usual flight frame. So this was how he'd been taken off of the rooftop. He'd been too out of it to realize.

“Get in,” commanded the jet, popping open his canopy.

Obediently Tailgate did so and dropped into the seat. “Where are you taking me.”

“Back to my place, and you're going to remain there a while. You're being hired for an extended session.”

“What? But I have to...”

“You have to rest up,” Cyclonus interrupted.

Tailgate folded his arms over his chest. “That's not your concern. You're just a client. What does my well-being matter?” he asked defiantly.

“It is my concern if I wish to keep indulging in your services.” Cyclonus' engines roared to life and they immediately rose and entered the aerial traffic pattern above Kaon, and in three breems they were landing on the balcony of Cyclonus' quarters.

Tailgate climbed out and immediately the big mech transformed and opened the glass door. “You'll be staying here. I'm keeping the doors locked so you won't be able to sneak away again.”

Tailgate spun around and faced the big mech angrily. “You're keeping me a prisoner?”

“I'm keeping you here for a few days, until other arrangements can be made. But you won't be a prisoner. I do plan on paying for your time.”

“You've paid me enough,” he said unhappily. The twelve thousand credits burned in his pocket. Tailgate sat down hard on the padded footstool in front of the chair, suddenly wishing he hadn't when a jolt of residual pain shook his lower internals. “And what if I don't want to? What if I'd rather go walk the streets for money?”

Cyclonus' rumbling laugh filled the room. “Stop being so foolish and spiteful, you silly little thing.” He dropped to his knees in front of Tailgate, capturing him between his arms as he placed his hands on the wide seat of the chair behind him. “You should be grateful that I'm taking you off the streets.” The big Decepticon moved in and kissed Tailgate's mask. “You'll be much safer here than anywhere else in Kaon. Now drop that mask and let me kiss you properly. Or would you rather I just stuck my spike in your mouth?”

Tailgate wanted to slap him. But at the same time he wanted to just let go of his pride and kiss the officer silly and thank him from the depths of his spark. Cyclonus had done so much for him, and he was right about everything as much as Tailgate wanted to deny it. Becoming a prostitute had broken down so much of his own pride and self-esteem, that he felt the need to cling to what little bit was left in order not to fall into complete depravity and self-loathing. He'd seen it happen to some of the other streetwalkers already in his short time in Overdock.

“Please?” asked Cyclonus.

Please? Cyclonus never used that word, at least not with him. The mech was asking? Not demanding?

In a sudden moment of insight and clarity, Tailgate realized that the big bad Decepticon was not all big and bad—that behind the gruff and unfaltering exterior there were hidden feelings for him. It wasn't just about getting a bit of aft every orn or so. Ever since his first experiences with Cyclonus he'd tried to think of the purple mech as a good client and just that, to not grow attached beyond the interest of an amiable business relationship. But perhaps he'd not been the only one denying the relationship that was trying to develop. Perhaps Cyclonus had also been trying to consider him just a nice frag and someone safe to cuddle afterward.

But now, with but one word, suddenly it seemed that there was much more involved here.

Tailgate dropped his mask and the warrior's lips immediately swooped in to take his.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 37

-o-o-o-o-o-


	37. Chapter 37

The two lay on the berth afterwards, Cyclonus spooning around the tiny mech, kissing Tailgate's crown absently in a sleepy haze. It hadn't been anything like their previous sessions. Cyclonus had been maddeningly gentle with Tailgate's recovering frame, his touch so delicate that Tailgate had nearly demanded that the mech go harder on him. When Cyclonus had entered him, he'd done only that: entered him. There had been only filling... no thrusting or grinding and only the slightest of rocking.

Cyclonus' hand now slid indulgently over Tailgate's arm, his claws plucking at the twist of black wires adorned with a single licensing tag. “Such a shame you wear these,” he rumbled.

“It's what I do.”

“But you weren't framed as a pleasurebot.”

“No.”

“You're good at mimicking one though. Don't worry. I won't tell the Functionists.” A long arm wrapped tightly around Tailgate's waist. “How did you end up in this profession?”

Tailgate sighed. “By accident.”

“Isn't that what they all say?”

“I don't know, but it just sort of happened to me.”

“Tell me how. I'm curious now as to how a sweet, honest, trustworthy little thing like you ended up in such a miserable place. I can't believe you left me your credits.”

“You gave them back. And it's not that miserable,” Tailgate protested.

“You should have seen what I found on that rooftop in Kaon Southlands. That's how Autobots usually look after I'm done with them.”

“You don't have to keep reminding me of my mistake.”

“I'm just glad you're still alive,” Cyclonus purred, pressing his lips once more to Tailgate's helm. “So tell me. How did it happen? Mmm? How did an innocent little minibot go from ...whatever you were doing before... to a refugee streetwalker in the Decepticon capital?”

Tailgate sighed again. “My story? Are you sure?”

“It would be nice to know.”

Another sigh. “All right.” His position shifted a little and he settled against his keeper's arm.

“Swerve and I were studying at the academy in Pescus Hex. I'd only been there a quarter vorn and he had been there three quarters. Things were going pretty well, even with the war on. We had energon. Classes were still going. But then a column of Autobot ground troops moved into the city. And Megatron ordered an attack. Well, you know what happens to cities...”

“All too well,” rumbled the big jet, his frightening face looking a touch more fearsome for the moment.

“Swerve and I came to Kaon in a batch of refugees from Pescus Hex and were living at the work camp. We'd been lucky and had been hired for various jobs and were hoping to find steady work. Well one night after about half a stellar-cycle there, after counting our money we decided that we had enough for the luxury of a little refined oil and maybe some high-grade. Everyone said Overdock was the cheapest place to go drinking, so we ended up there. In this place called the Six Thermals, over on Landing Street, we got a couple of small cubes. Well then the guy sitting next to me at the bar started talking to us, and he kept saying how cute I looked when I was drinking. And then he started buying Swerve and I drinks. And of course we weren't going to refuse, though I think that Swerve ended up pocketing most of his drinks to take back to the camp. And then after Swerve went off with some of the other mechs from the camp, this mech started to get a bit handsy with me and kept stroking my frame and telling me how cute it was when I dribbled a bit of oil or energon down my faceplate.”

“You are a clumsy drinker,” Cyclonus chuckled.

Tailgate gave a slight harrumph.

“So then what happened?”

“He asked me if I'd like to go back to his place for the night for a 'face and some more energon. And I told him that I didn't think I should because chances of a job were better if I was up first thing in the morning when the contractors came in, and that I didn't want to miss out. So then he said that if work was the issue, he'd pay me five hundred credits to come home with him. Five hundred is what most of the contractors hiring out of the camps paid for a full ten cycles of labor. So that sounded pretty good to me. So I went with him and... well... after Swerve saw the money, and saw that I'd gotten to sleep in a real berth and even had a proper wash afterward, we talked about it. Then Swerve went and checked it out. We used the money we had to buy licenses to work in Overdock, and after surviving our first payday we were able to get an apartment. It was so much nicer than living under the tarps at the work camp.”

“And the rest is history,” rumbled Cyclonus, now nuzzling at Tailgate's neck.

“It wasn't great, but it was a start to getting real jobs. And Swerve found one. I just... I don't have many skills. The academy at Pescus Hex was destroyed in the war before I could get any real training. We were lucky just to escape from there still in one piece.”

“And here you are now in the berth of a Decepticon officer, being his adorable little fragtoy.”

“Yeah...” Tailgate muttered. “His fragtoy.”

“You insisted that I was only a client.”

“Yes... I did.”

And Tailgate wasn't sure why, but he suddenly found tears of optic wash rolling remorsefully across his faceplate.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 38

-o-o-o-o-o-


	38. Chapter 38

“I have a new arrangement for you,” Cyclonus announced two days later on coming back to the apartment.

“Oh?” asked Tailgate curiously, getting up from the couch in the front room. He'd been whiling away the time watching holovids and reading through his keeper's library. He'd just been doing the latter, having found a science book that was neither too wordy nor completely out of his understanding. 

“You'll be working at the House of Red Curtains in Uravan Bridges. Tomorrow I'll be taking you to their associated doctor for a full physical and virus purge. Then you're getting a deep cleaning and a full repaint. After that I'm taking you to their manager for orientation.”

“You really got me a place at a house?” Tailgate choked. “Really?” Working at a house was the best thing for one who sold his frame for a living. The clientele was of a better caliber, the work was more regular, and the conditions were immensely safer. “How did you ever manage that?”

“I have a lot of favors owed to me, Tailgate.”

“Oh.”

Cyclonus went on. “The arrangement is one of sponsorship. A rent if you will. I am paying the house a certain amount to allow you to stay there. You will have a private room and plenty of energon. When I want you, you will be available to me. At any other time, you may take other clients and be paid as the other employees of the house. You don't have to of course, but you won't have any income without doing so.”

“You would do this for me? You're sort of supporting me.” Such an arrangement seemed to be too good to be true.

“You told me I was nothing more than a client. And that's all I'll be to you. But expect to see me often.”

“I understand,” he said, still in disbelief that he'd be working in a house. “And they're okay with my size?”

“There is a certain demand for your frame-size.”

“I guess there is. I just... I just feel so short and unglamorous next to the usual employees in those places.”

“You'll do just fine, Tailgate,” said Cyclonus encouragingly. “And if I'm wrong, you'll at least have me to keep you occupied.”

“What about Swerve?”

“Swerve will just have to find himself a new roommate,” came the succinct answer.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 39

-o-o-o-o-o-


	39. Chapter 39

Cyclonus walked Tailgate into the paint-parlor that the House of Red Curtains contracted with. “Ah!” exclaimed the receptionist behind the counter with a bright smile. “You must be Tailgate,” he said looking directly at the smaller of the pair. It was an obvious choice. There was nothing regarding Cyclonus that said 'get it here' about him.

“I am,” said Tailgate, still feeling a little overwhelmed that this was actually happening. He'd just been given a full examination by Tachyon, the house's doctor, and had passed the scans easily. His diligence in looking after himself had its merits.

“A full strip and repaint for the House of Red Curtains,” he said looking at his monitor screen. And then he looked again at Tailgate, this time a little more studiously. “You're going to look good in red. In fact you'll look absolutely delicious in red.”

“I hope so,” was the minibot's response.

“Oh you will. Now...” The receptionist handed him a datapad. “Now here's your contract, standard for the House of Red Curtains. But basically it says that everyone gets a full fresh coat of paint every five meta-cycles as per the house contract, but you're welcome to come back more than that if you want. Though you have to pay for it yourself in that case.” The receptionist pointed at a spot on the datapad's screen. “Just look it over and sign your glyphs here.”

Tailgate began to read.

The receptionist diverted his attention to Cyclonus. “It will take a while to get him done, but it will be oh-so-worth-it. If you'd like to wait for your friend, you may. It will be several cycles. And we do have a few technicians available if there are any services you might be needing. Paint touch up and deep polish. Re-chroming. Hand enameling—take out all those unsightly scratches. Hot wax treatment,” he suggested.

“I believe I'm fine for today,” Cyclonus huffed.

“Well if you change your mind, let me know, and I'll get you in with the first technician available,” he said cheerfully.

“Tailgate, comm' me when you're done and I'll come get you,” instructed Cyclonus.

Tailgate smiled up at him. “I will. You'll be the first to see my new look.”

“And you'll love it,” giggled the receptionist.

Cyclonus grunted a non-committal sound and departed the paint-parlor.

When the contract was signed the receptionist led Tailgate through a corridor 

“So who was your escort?” continued the receptionist. “He looks like quite a warrior. Very ferocious I'll bet.”

Tailgate looked up from the pad. “He's my patron. And he is pretty ferocious. At least I think he is. He's killed a lot of Autobots.”

“Oh? Doesn't that worry you?”

The minibot grinned happily. “I'm not an Autobot.”

“Of course you aren't.”

They laughed together.

“So what's he like in the berth? I know it's none of my business, but I'm always curious when I see someone like that with a little thing like you. It's not that uncommon actually.”

“He's careful with me. I mean, no more careful than anyone should be or would be.”

The mech looked at Tailgate with an expression of curiosity. “He doesn't hurt you? Even when he's, ah... excited?”

“Nope.” And then Tailgate giggled. “He's careful not to break me or push me too hard. He says he wants to keep me around.”

The receptionist giggled again himself. “That sounds like a good way to put it.”

They came to a room at the back that reeked of powerful solvents, and inside, the receptionist had Tailgate sit down. Just moments later another mech came into the room, this one unpainted but with gleaming, well-scrubbed metal.

“This is Topset, our stripper,” was the introduction. “He'll be removing your old paint and fixing any imperfections in your plating. And then he'll wash you down and send you on to the next station.”

Topset nodded again.

“So I'll leave you in his capable hands. And what capable hands they are...” He picked up the paint-stripper's closest hand and cradled it a moment before kissing it fondly. And then he departed. “Enjoy your repainting, Tailgate,” he giggled on his way out the door.

Topset was shaking his head. “That mech,” he sighed. “Such a flirt.” And then he looked down at Tailgate. “Well let's get you into the soaking trough and get this party started.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Newly painted and polished and smelling like a brand-new mech, Tailgate greeted Cyclonus in the lobby of the paint-parlor. “Well what do you think? I'm not sure if red really suits me.”

“You'll get used to it,” said the receptionist, leaning onto the desk to look at the minibot. “It does look good on you,” he praised.

“Hmm. Yes,” said Cyclonus flatly. “I've never cared much for red plating, but house rules are house rules. Some mechs go crazy for red plating.”

“At least I'm nice and shiny again,” smiled Tailgate.

“I do like that,” said Cyclonus, at which the minibot beamed. “Now lets get you back to the house.”

“Good luck with your new job!” the receptionist called after them as Cyclonus ushered Tailgate out into the street.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Gloss, the manager at the House of Red Curtains, greeted them as they walked in and approved Tailgate's new appearance. “Oh you're such a doll. I do hope you'll present yourself. You'll be popular, and it's been a while since we've had a minibot working here. You do look lovely.”

“Thank you, Gloss,” Tailgate said as graciously as he could.

“Well let me show you around and introduce you to some of the other residents of the house. And then I'll take you both up to Tailgate's new accommodations.” He turned to Cyclonus. “If you'd care to wait in the lounge in the meantime... Your tab is open at the bar, but I told Bluster to serve you for free today. We're obliged to you for your patronage and for bringing us our newest resident.”

Cyclonus nodded. “Thank you.”

Gloss turned back to Tailgate. “Well since it's quiet I'll be able to give you a good tour of the place and walk you through the process here. And the first day you present yourself, if you ever decide to, you'll have one of the pages with you to guide you through it.”

“That sounds good.”

Gloss laughed delightedly. “It is good. We try to keep everything good here at the House of Red Curtains.” He led the way into the lounge just beyond the entry lobby. “Now here's where the residents spend most of their time—in the lounge or down on the viewing floor.” The room appeared much like an upscale tavern, with a bar at one end to which Cyclonus was now making his way, and a scattering of small tables. Most of the tables were pushed up against a railing, over which one could look down into a lower area. “Now this is the lounge, where our guests come in and have a drink and make a selection. There are no clients or customers here. We only have guests and visitors. They can either choose from the residents down on the viewing floor, or select from the listings at the table.” He picked up a datapad from the closest table and showed Tailgate. “These are full of information about the house and who's living here.”

“And I would have an entry in it?” Tailgate asked, seeing that the first page contained a link marked 'Residents Available for your Pleasure.' Choosing the link, it presented a list of names and pictures and links to more information about each resident.

“If you'll be available, yes.”

Tailgate looked about. In the lounge there were two mechs with datapads and drinks, both going through the house listings. One would look at the datapad, and then down at the viewing floor, then back to the datapad. On the viewing floor were several red-painted mechs and femmes sitting about casually. A slender-looking mech was making his way up the stairs, and on reaching the top he leaned against the railing. A small mech, standing at the top of the stairs and wearing a red scarf of the house color turned to talk to him.

“As a resident, you are not allowed to approach our visitors, but if you are beckoned over you may. And likewise, guests are not allowed upon the viewing floor unless invited.”

“It's so formal here,” Tailgate commented.

“It is. We tend to be a bit old-fashioned about things. This was how it was in the Golden Age. But all the better houses in Kaon work the same way.”

“I've never been into a house before. Well not until this morning.”

“You'll like it here, Tailgate. It's a comfortable life compared to working on the streets.”

“I hope so.”

Gloss chuckled. “It is. Now come along. I'm going to show you to some of the special rooms here.”

He led the way over to the elevator and they went inside. “There are a couple of special rooms here. Usually when you are selected by a client you will be taking him to your personal room, but if one of the special rooms has been selected, it will show in the contract key, and the contract key will give you access to the specified room.”

The elevator came to a halt and they exited into a hallways with multiple doors. Gloss unlocked the closest one and led him in. “This one's the party suite. Usually it's reserved in advance, and often the guests simply ask us to provide three or four residents for entertainment rather than picking them out. And sometimes we'll have a hostess or a bartender here as well depending on the size of the group.”

Tailgate looked around the room. In the center was a set of curved couches ringing a circular convenience table. A small bar sat at one end of the room. There were four alcoves, curtained for semi-privacy by two layers of sheer red curtains, each alcove containing a berth and a stand for drinks.

“So if you get assigned to a party down here, expect to be passed around a bit. But expect to have a good time too.”

Gloss led the way into another room, this one occupied only by an oil bath. “There are two oil rooms, and we let the residents use them in the morning hours.”

“Oh nice!” exclaimed Tailgate.

“It is. One of my favorite perks of working here.”

“You get to use it too?”

“I live here as well,” Gloss smiled. “Easier to keep the manager on the premises. And we all get to know each other as friends that way. It's a very nice arrangement.”

Tailgate smiled, crouching down to dip his finger into the oilbath. “I think I'll like being here.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 40

-o-o-o-o-o-


	40. Chapter 40

“I'm starting to appreciate the color red,” said Cyclonus sleepily. He was drifting away in the post-overload bliss, his favorite minibot pulled against his chest.

“I am too,” smiled Tailgate. He stared across the room at the open window, where the warm breeze stirred the gauzy red curtains. There was no balcony outside, just a railing before the wide open window. Not that there was much of a view---just the side of the neighboring building. “Cyclonus?”

“Hmm?”

“I think I'm ready to start putting myself on the viewing floor. Do you mind if I do?”

“Of course not. As long as you're always available when I want you. You know your contract.”

“They don't usually book appointments for the kept mechs here.”

“How many kept mechs are there?”

“Besides myself, two others—Chase and Starside.”

“There's always a red mech named Chase,” Cyclonus muttered.

“Or a blue one,” Tailgate giggled. “But everyone who works here is painted red, so our Chase would have to be red.”

Cyclonus shifted and his hand dropped down to massage the panel over Tailgate's array. “So I won't be the only one in your valve any more. I'll be sharing you with all of Kaon again.”

“If it bothers you, I don't have to,” Tailgate offered guiltily, suddenly sitting up. “It's just that Gloss has been encouraging me to. He says that he keeps getting asked for a minibot and I'd fill the position very nicely. And he's so nice to me. And everyone, actually. Plus I thought it would be nice to earn a little spending money. The other boarders here have so many pretty things and jewelry and I thought maybe I should buy some to fit in.”

Cyclonus pulled the much smaller mech back down and kissed the top of his lover's head. “I still can't understand how such a sweet, honest mech like yourself came to be working this kind of job.”

“Well it's that...”

“Shhh... don't tell me,” Cyclonus interrupted. His cooling fans gave a lazy spin. “I'm going to get some recharge. This berth is always more comfortable than I expect it to be.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Understood" continues in Chapter 41

-o-o-o-o-o-


	41. Chapter 41

Gloss met Tailgate at the elevator landing. “I'm glad you decided to give it a try,” he said. “And by the way, you look great.”

“Thank you,” said Tailgate happily. He'd spent most of what money he had to have some imitation starstones applied to some of the more conspicuous areas of his armor. If no one looked too closely it wouldn't be discovered that they weren't the real thing. “I'll give it my best.”

“I know you will.” He gestured at the page beside him. “This is Shane. He'll be sticking with you today to help you out with questions and procedures.”

The four pages were and ever-present fixture around the House of Red Curtains. Gloss had hired them ages ago—all four refugees from Sandus Sept. And like all Sandians they were small—the size of data-slug mechs—but had no natural alt-modes. Many Cybertronians considered their race a throwback or an aberration. Some considered them crippled. The Monoformists considered them next to godliness. The Adaptusians considered them cursed. The Functionists deemed them only worth of manual servitude. But whatever anyone thought of them, they worked hard at the House of Red Curtains delivering ordered drinks to the rooms, running errands for the boarders, and helping out here and there. The red scarves they wore were a badge of pride.

“Hello Shane,” Tailgate said cheerfully. The mech was even smaller than himself. “Nice to meet you. I'll probably have lots of questions for you.”

“I'm happy to help out,” he said, extending a hand in greeting.

Gloss smiled. “I'll take you to the viewing floor and introduce you there. But after that you two will be on your own.”

“I'm sure we'll be fine,” said Shane confidently.

“Of course you will,” responded Gloss with the same enthusiasm. “Tailgate here certainly won't be the first mech you've walked through his first few days.”

The three went down to the viewing floor where Gloss got the attention of the other six boarders lounging about. The femme playing ther electroharp brought her tune to an early finish. The slender mech with the interesting head-flares set aside his datapad with an irritated groan. “Everyone, this is Tailgate. He's being kept upstairs by his patron, but he's decided to join us on the floor now and then.

The mech and femme who could have passed for twins leaned into each other, heads touching, and giggled effervescently at some private joke. The harpist smiled. The lithe femme in the glittering shawl did as well. The big mech with the intensely green optics nodded. The one with the datapad just went back to his reading.

“Shane will be looking after him while he gets used to things, but I expect you all to be friendly and helpful toward him.” Gloss' optics fixed deliberately on the datapad mech for a moment before he turned back to his newest employee. “Any questions before I head for my desk?”

“I don't think so. And Shane will be here for me.”

Gloss put his hand affectionately on Tailgate's shoulder. “I hope you have a good day and get to entertain a guest or two.”

The manager departed, and Tailgate and Shane sat on one of the couches with Shane beside him, the tiny mech and the twins talking him through the process of being summoned from the viewing floor. Basically he was to wait there until a guest invited him up to the lounge. Once in the lounge the guest could either buy him a drink or take him right up to his room. Sometimes Gloss would issue a 'viewing summons', for which Gloss himself would be present. In this case the guest was probably seeking a 'certain something' and it was Gloss' job to convince him that they had it.

But once he and guest were on their way upstairs, the contract key would be handed over and he would see any specifics of the services required. “The system works pretty smoothly,” said Shane. “You'll get used to it quickly.”

“Do you think I'll get many clients?”

“Easily,” said the femme half of the twins, simply named 'Left' while her partner went by 'Right'. “You're nice to look at and a lot of mechs these days prefer a smaller partner.”

“Shane, what about you? Do they ever ask for you or any of the other pages?”

“We pages aren't for sale,” he said with a knowing smile.

“But do they ever ask?”

Shane chuckled. “Very rarely. But let me introduce you to Harmony. She's the one with the electroharp. Half of the time she gets asked to bring her instrument in with her and play for the guests.”

“While they're clanging her?”

“Usually afterwards from what I hear.” Shane introduced Tailgate to Harmony and to the other mechs about. As requested by Gloss, they were friendly, though the datapad one made it very clear that he had no interest in his new co-worker.

Later in the afternoon a party of four Decepticon junior officers came in and each picked out a boarder, and Tailgate found himself selected by a white-plated seeker. Shane accompanied Tailgate and the guest in the elevator, showing Tailgate where to slip the contract key into the reader and how to go over the terms. There was a basic default contract, and anything that varied would be marked by Gloss. But there was nothing out of the ordinary, and when the elevator opened on the sixth floor, Tailgate lead the way toward his room, one of the four on that floor. He felt a little excited, having been away from this work for a while, and everything seemed so nice here.

“I'll just be waiting out here,” said Shane. “Comm' me if you have more questions.” He sat on the bench right outside the elevator. ::And remember, if you need him, Terror can be here within two kliks if there's trouble.::

::Thank you, Shane. I don't think I will, but it's good to know that he's right there if I'm in trouble.:: Tailgate smiled as he hopped onto the berth, bouncing a little on the mattress. He could have used Terror on several occasions when working in Overdock. The house's security mech was big enough and threatening enough to chase off mechs even of Cyclonus' size.

His first client here did seem nice. He'd bought Tailgate and himself a drink downstairs, at which point Shane was introduced. The white seeker then bought Shane a drink as well. And now he was making himself comfortable upon the berth, relaxing his head into a pillow. For a moment Tailgate's smile straightened when he saw that the mech had grabbed Cyclonus' pillow. He'd have to remember to put that particular cushion into the closet before entertaining the next guest. But just this once, it would be fine.

From now on, everything would be fine.

-o-o-o-o-o- 

"Understood" continues in Chapter 42

-o-o-o-o-o-


	42. Chapter 42

Tailgate lay on his back in the berth, his current guest clanging hard against his hips. “Yeah, that's it. You like it like that, don't you?” huffed the large dark brown and orange mech.

Tailgate gave a single whimper.

“You're a filthy little mech, aren't you? You'd have a nice long spike in you all day long and all night if you could, wouldn't you?”

Trying not to sigh in disgust, Tailgate covered his dislike of his current guest with a moan. At least he could moan convincingly.

“You love it, don't you? Yeah, you love having my spike in your dirty little valve, don't you? What is this for you today? Your fifth? Your tenth? I can smell the others on you. You smell like you've been with half of the army already. Probably some of their Autobot prisoners too.”

This of course was impossible. Between guests, the employees of the house were required to bathe fully, cleaning themselves inside and out, and polish away any scuffs. There was to be no trace of a previous guest left upon their plating when they presented themselves to the next. Tailgate moaned again in answer. “Please...”

“Yeah, I thought so. You love getting spiked don't you? I'll bet you were such a spike-hungry little slut that you started working as a whore just so you'd be satisfied. His orange hands moved to grip firmly at the sides of Tailgate's head.

“Harder. Give it to me harder,” Tailgate gasped, hoping he was still sounding convincing, hoping this mech would overload hard and off-line, or better yet fall into recharge. Or even better yet that he would leave early. Thank Primus the mech had only booked a cycle and a half. A cycle and a half of this ridiculous drivel was about all anyone would be able to take.

“I'll give it to you harder, you slut. And then I'm going to fill you up with so much transfluid you'll be dripping for days. I saw you dripping already from all the others who were here before me.”

This again was impossible due to the rules of the house. And even when he'd worked on Seventh Cycle street he'd taken care to clean himself as best he could between clients.

“Mmmm... such a naughty little slut. So tight too.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 43

-o-o-o-o-o-


	43. Chapter 43

::Come downstairs when you're finished with your present client,:: Cyclonus sent to Tailgate.

::Cyclonus! You're here! I didn't know you were going to be in today. You didn't tell me.::

::I only just decided to visit. I don't mind waiting for you to finish up with the mech you're with now.::

::Oh, of course. Well I should be down in about a cycle then.::

::I'll just be here in the bar. No need to hurry.::

-o-o-o-o-o-

When Tailgate did make his way downstairs, he found Cyclonus sitting at one of the tables close to the bar, Moonlight in the chair next to him and Dancer sitting on his thigh. Glasses of refined oil sat on the table. Approaching, he felt a twinge of jealousy, along with sudden twinge of worry that his unavailability might have shifted Cyclonus' favor to another boarder. As a kept toy, his position was truly never secure. He had no contract with Cyclonus...only the mech's interest.

On hearing Tailgate's footsteps, the big jet turned and smiled. “There you are,” he said with as much excitement as he ever mustered. He tapped Dancer's aft, getting her to hop off of his leg. And then he stood. “Let's go out,” he said. “Take in a showclub or something.”

“Oooh, a showclub! Tailgate, have fun!” sighed Moonlight.

“Oh, do!” squeaked Dancer. “Tell us about it when you return, all right?”

Cyclonus cocked his horned head amusedly. “Why don't you two come with us? If you can.”

The two gasped. “We'll have to ask Gloss,” said Moonlight.

“Maybe we can. There are seven of us on the floor but it's not been busy.”

Again came that twinge of worry. Moonlight and Dancer were gorgeous femmes, and he was just a dumpy little minibot by comparison. Could his cute stand against their beauty? Perhaps Cyclonus was just being jealous. His rank within the Decepticon faction obviously paid well, but there were hints of older money. And while he was no spendthrift, he never held back on his generosity.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate's worries were quickly eliminated in the air shuttle. Cyclonus had offered to treat the two femmes to drinks and a show, but he made it clear that he was not purchasing their time. They were along as friends rather than as hired company. And when the taxi's anti-gravs lurched it into the air, Cyclonus pulled Tailgate into his lap, pulling his helm close. “Do you have any plans for later toniht?”

“None.”

“Fill me into your schedule then. Can't wait to have you,” he hissed into Tailgate's audial. “Maybe I could take you right here before we get to the club.”

Tailgate squeaked. “Here? In the taxi?”

“Sure.” His lips brushed the side of Tailgate's helm. The jet was being unusually affectionate and the arousal in his field was definitely waxing.

“But we'll be there soon, and Dancer and Moonlight are here,” Tailgate protested embarrassedly.

“If I ask, the pilot will keep flying. And I'm sure that Dancer and Moonlight would turn their heads if you're self-conscious about it.”

Thankfully the taxi pulled to a stop right then and the doors opened. “Silver Canopy. All out!” called the pilot.

Tailgate sighed gratefully. He still held onto some modesty despite his profession. And surely Cyclonus was just teasing.

Heads turned as the party walked into the showclub. Unless they were low-ranked soldiers or laborers, it was unusual to see three like-painted mechs together. The host found them a table, one quite close to the floor, and soon they were enjoying the good life. And throughout their time there, Cyclonus' hand kept straying to either Tailgate's thigh or shoulder, stroking his plating with a near-tenderness.

Tailgate felt much relieved. He still had the Decepticon's devotion; the big jet still wanted his company. And at one point when the pair of dancers on stage took their bows and reveled in the applause, Tailgate looked up at the big, skull-faced mech in adoration. Beneath his mask he whispered a prayer to Primus that they would always be together like this, that the war would go on forever, that Cyclonus would always be there looking after him, and that he would always be there to see to Cyclonus' needs.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 44

-o-o-o-o-o-


	44. Chapter 44

Tailgate was surprised when the huge host-mech selected him out of the available boarders for a closer examination. He went over to the couch and smiled graciously, suddenly feeling so small next to him. Would this mech even fit into his room without hitting the lights? Okay, he was about Cyclonus' height, but the broad upper body of a cassette-carrier made him seem so much bigger and so much taller.

“This is Tailgate, a new arrival here at the House of Red Curtains,” said Gloss in an oily tone. “There's a lot of him in this little package.”

The host-mech nodded. “Expected.”

“Turn around for him, Tailgate,” instructed Gloss.

Tailgate did so, displaying himself for the guest, hoping the Decepticon wouldn't actually select him, but was just looking at him out of curiosity. There might be a lot of him in a little package, but there probably wasn't enough to satisfy such a big mech, at least not alone. He and Swerve together had taken mechs this big before, but neither had dared to try one alone.

“Well? Do you like him?” Gloss asked.

“I do,” answered the host-mech. “Very much.” And he handed over a contract key to his selection.

Tailgate did his best to keep his smile on. Oh well. At least if the mech wasn't pleased, he'd made the decision himself.

“Tailgate, please take our guest up to your room and make him comfortable,” came the instructions.

“Thank you, Gloss,” Tailgate answered with an obedient nod, and reached for the big mech's hand. “Follow me, please.”

In the elevator Tailgate inserted the contract key into his workpad and went over the contract, stunned at what his service was to be. No wonder he'd been selected ahead of all the beautiful femmes and the handsome mechs in the lineup. They wouldn't have been right for this job.

When the elevator drew to a halt on the eleventh floor, Tailgate led his guest out to the small foyer and into his door. Locking it behind them, he looked up at the imposing mech, taking in the pale tan and dark purple plating. “What would you like first?” he asked, switching on the cuteness he'd cultivated while working in Overdock. The house took forty percent of his earnings, but any tips were his to keep tax free, which meant he had an interest in pleasing the customer.

“Berth first. Then the bath. Then the couch. Then the berth again for recharge.”

Tailgate smiled. “All right.” Thanks to Megatron's new third-in-command, it had become fashionable for all host-mechs, particularly cassette-carriers, to speak in short commands and thoughts. “Berth first it is. Anything special you want me to address you as?” 

The mech's mouth curled up at the edges. “'Carrier' please.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate lay on his back in the berth, vents cycling and recycling the hot air that filled the room. The session had been an intense one—the huge host-mech having spiked him non-stop since just five kliks past their arrival in Tailgate's room. Like Cyclonus, this larger-than-average client had been surprisingly gentle. Unlike Cyclonus he had been very loving and affectionate. Tailgate had been kissed and caressed and even praised, Soundwave's fashionable stoniness forgotten. The terms of endearment spilled constantly. And now the host-mech was picking him up and carrying him into the washrack. “You're sticky, little one,” he said sweetly. “Let's get you cleaned up.”

“Yes, Carrier,” Tailgate responded with equal sweetness.

Still holding the minibot, the host-mech turned on the shower, and when the water came up to temperature, he cradled Tailgate's frame in one strong arm and held him in the steaming spray. The other hand took a wash towel off the top of the stack and with it the host-mech began to wash Tailgate's face, and then his helm, and then his shoulders. He occasionally paused to deliver yet another kiss. And then he sat upon the bath seat and took up a scrub-brush and began to go over the little mech's joints and under his plating, eventually standing him up between his knees and slathering him with oil-soap.

All through the washing Tailgate smiled and giggled and fawned back. In some ways this was so perfect. In others he felt sorry for the host-mech—this guy had to be one of the loneliest mechs he'd ever entertained. He was obviously missing what should have been a chestful of symbionts. Perhaps he'd been unable to bond with any. Perhaps he'd lost them to the war. Perhaps they'd not wanted to join the Decepticon faction and had abandoned their carrier.

And once the washing was done, the big mech made love to Tailgate twice more before washing him off again, wrapping him in a large towel, and carrying him to the couch. There the host-mech finished drying him and then gave him a little cube of high-grade out of his own pocket. Tailgate did his best to look excited, as if it were some wonderful and rare treat. He drank it happily, and when a little spilled down his chin, the big mech laughed. “You're so adorable.” He brought up the towel and wiped away the drips before kissing him again. “I love you, my darling,” he purred.

“I love you too, Carrier,” Tailgate squeaked in response.

It wasn't long before Tailgate was being spiked again. The host-mech's stamina was amazing—that made it, what? Seven overloads for him? Five in the bed. Two in the washrack. And now another was well on the way. Tailgate would be aching when this was over, his valve having been stretched to capacity and worked hard. He supposed that such stamina was necessary to take care of anywhere from the usual three to eight symbionts, whether in the berth or on the battlefield. At least when the host-mech was finally sated, they'd curl up among the cushions of the berth and sleep cradled together.

But he didn't mind. It felt so wonderful—the two of them happy together, the two of them holding and loving each other, the two of them forgetting that there was a war going on outside of their little bubble of fantasy, the two of them forgetting that the host-mech had paid well above the usual rate for this special treatment.

Whatever it took to get them through and able to face the next day.

If only it were Cyclonus.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 45

-o-o-o-o-o-


	45. Chapter 45

Tailgate had been unsure about going to one of Starscream's parties, but Cyclonus had insisted.

He was doubly unsure when Cyclonus took him to his favorite paint-parlor for a thorough scrubbing and a temporary repaint. It had been strange enough going all-red for his new job. But on walking out he was solid black, save for a few silver highlights and his blue visor. He felt so conspicuous out on the streets afterwards. He felt worse yet when Cyclonus took him to a shop hidden away from the main thoroughfare and presented him to the clerk. “For this one, collar with attached manacles, matching shackles, rhodium finish please,” Cyclonus told the clerk as he nudged the minibot forward.

The clerk carefully measured Tailgate's wrists and ankles, and soon the minibot was on the thickly carpeted floor tugging testingly against the restraints.

“What are these for?” Tailgate asked apprehensively on leaving the shop, his new 'jewelry' carefully stored in a padded box.

Cyclonus just chuckled ominously as they turned onto a major cross street that would lead them back to the House of Red Curtains. “You'll see.”

And Tailgate did see the next night at the party, where he spent the whole time kneeling submissively beside Cyclonus' chair, the bright silver restraints gleaming on his limbs. His head, canted forward at just the right angle, served as a stand for Cyclonus's drink. At least he didn't have to to participate in the debauchery going on at the center of the room atop the purple-draped berth. It reminded him distantly of what had happened that horrible night atop the roof of an abandoned building in Kaon Southlands. At least he didn't have to as long as he didn't spill or drop the cup of energon balanced upon the flat of his crown. “If you do, I'm going to give you to Dirge to play with,” Cyclonus threatened.

“Which one's Dirge, Master?” Tailgate squeaked, careful of the etiquette Cyclonus had instructed him in for this sort of function

“He's the seeker over there with the electro-whip,” came the answer.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 46

-o-o-o-o-o-


	46. Chapter 46

“Look, just pick one already,” huffed the black-plated mech. A Decepticon brand edged in silver as Cyclonus' was marked his high rank. The sleek, expensive styling of his chassis marked his even higher social rank.

“Do I really have to? This isn't really necessary. I'm sure I'll be able to figure out what to do on my own,” answered the mech next to him—nearly his twin, save for the orange enhancing the black and the distinct lack of any Decepticon markings or weaponry.

The black mech huffed. “I'm not having any son of mine disappointing his intended on their bonding night. Either you choose one, or I'll choose one for you,” came the ultimatum.

“Fine.. .fine” The black and orange mech looked down at the available boarders for the umpteenth time.

“They're all the same, and they all know what to do,” hissed his sire through a tightly held jaw.

The younger mech shrugged. “Fine. I'll take...” he looked around again at the nine boarders on the floor below. Gloss had called down every available employee to put himself or herself on display. “I'll take the little one with the visor,” he answered unenthusiastically.

“Really?” asked the black noblemech.

The black and orange one smirked. “You just said that they were all the same, so yes, really.” He beckoned to Tailgate, waving the small mech up.

A great sigh was heaved. Gloss swooped in for damage control. “Tailgate here may not look like much, but he's sweet and intelligent and very patient.”

Tailgate was called up and handed a contract key, but the noblemech insisted on instructing Tailgate personally. “This petulant sparkling of mine needs to be educated on how to entertain in the berth. I don't need the embarrassment of his bondmate finding out he's a clueless virgin and reporting it back to me.”

“I might be a virgin but I'm not clueless and I'm not stupid, either,” huffed the bride-to-be.

“Hush!” The mech turned back to Tailgate, who was standing there feeling rather awkward. It was obvious that his selection had been made with a touch of malice. “Now I want you to make sure he's thoroughly instructed on entertaining in the berth, and that he knows full well how to use both his spike and valve.”

“You're embarrassing me,” said the black and orange mech through clenched denta.

“You bring it upon yourself.”

Gloss began to herd Tailgate and the guest toward the elevator. Tailgate will perform admirably,” he said enthusiastically. “Now lets go have a drink together... compliments of the house.” He took the officer by the arm and led him back toward the bar.

-o-o-o-o-o-

In Tailgate's room, the black and orange mech plopped down into a chair. “I don't need you to teach me,” he stated standoffishly. “I already know what to do. So whatever. I'm just going to get a bit of recharge while and you can do whatever you want. How long did my sire book you for?”

“A full three cycles.” Tailgate's hands twisted together. “But there is more to it than just connecting your equipment.”

“I'm sure.”

Tailgate stared at the guest. He was quite handsome, and certainly no sparkling. The frame—not a seeker but definitely a volitant of some kind—was in gorgeous condition. “Why don't you want to learn?” asked Tailgate, sitting down on the berth. “Interfacing is very pleasant when done right.”

“I'm sure.”

“I'm trying to do my job.”

The mech stood and snorted. “Well you don't have to. I'm just going to get some recharge and you can to, or whatever. And then I'll go back downstairs and we'll tell my sire that you were a good teacher and that I know everything now.”

Tailgate sighed. “I'm... I'm supposed to spike you, and teach you to spike as well. It's in the contract. If I don't, and if anyone ever finds out, I could lose my job here.”

The mech grunted. “Can't you just lie about it?” He approached the berth.

“Could I at least show you a few things? Maybe you'll find a bit of courage and maybe you'll want to go further.”

“Courage?!” The mech walked to the window, laughing all the way. “You think I'm scared to 'face?” he asked incredulously. “I'm not afraid of anything. Not even that stupid sire of mine.”

“Well then why are you so resistant?”

“What do you care?”

“I... I know I shouldn't care but I kinda do. It's a bad habit of mine.”

“You? A pleasurebot for hire?”

Tailgate looked embarrassed. “I know. My sensitivity gets me in trouble sometimes.”

The mech walked back over to the berth. “You are a cute little thing. I suppose being soft-hearted is good for business.”

“Sometimes. Depends on the client.”

“I supposed you've 'faced hundreds of 'em.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you like being a pleasurebot?”

“I... I guess.”

The mech sat down next to him. 

“Could I at least show you a few things? So then if you get questioned, I won't get in trouble? I don't even have to touch you. If you want, you don't even have to open up,” Tailgate suggested hopefully. This approach had worked with shy mechs in the past.

The golden optics turned to Tailgate. “I suppose it would be all right.”

“What's your name?”

“Stormwing.”

“That's a nice name. Strong and beautiful.”

“Thanks. It's awfully common though. I meet a lot of Stormwing's out there.”

“Doesn't make it any less common or any less beautiful.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate sat on the berth waiting for Stormwing to regain consciousness. The jet's third overload had been an intense one and had knocked black and orange mech offline. And when Stormwing's optics flickered back on, Tailgate smiled. “Welcome back,” he giggled.

“What happened? Did I pass out?”

“Yeah. Happens with a stronger overload.”

“I thought it was just a joke people teased about. You mean I can actually go offline?”

“You can and did... but it wasn't so bad, was it?”

“No.”

Tailgate stroked Stormwing's arm. “And it's nothing to be ashamed of. Though that's why they always give us prostitutes such a hard time about stealing from clients. They end up in a pretty vulnerable position if they do.”

“I see.”

“Now? Do you want to try making me overload? You're welcome to touch me however you want.”

“Will you pass out if you do?”

“If I'm lucky that you've been paying attention, there's a good chance I might.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Stormwing spooned with Tailgate upon the berth, the larger mech experimentally kissing at the plates and cables of the smaller one's neck. “My father had gotten me a courier job... I wasn't officially part of the army, but a contractor for it. I kept bumping into Shock whenever I ran things to his base. He was just a gate guard, but he was about my age and had nearly the same colors as myself, and he always had a smile for me. When I found out his unit was being sent to Flarix Station, I gave him my comm' frequency and he promised to stay in touch.”

Stormwing sighed deeply. “We did stay in touch. And... well... I dunno. I guess we really started to like each other. Suddenly I couldn't wait to get his messages. And then we kinda flirted. And then... things turned romantic.” Stormwing forced himself to laugh. “Shock could be very romantic at times. Pretty surprising for an army grounder. I mean we never thought it would come to anything. We're both quite young and he's just one of thousands of nobodies in Megatron's army. And me... well, you saw my father. I'm surprised he didn't tell you his title. Any of his titles.” Stormwing found his attentions were no longer eliciting the same pleasurable shudders as they had been, so he moved on to the promising looking territory in Tailgate's inner-shoulder, and soon he had Tailgate gasping and panting satisfactorily.

“I guess we got pretty serious, because he told me eventually that he wanted me to be his first interface,” Stormwing confessed. “That he wanted me to show him how. But I'd never interfaced either. Somehow I thought the soldiers were doing it all the time. And he thought that as some noblemech I'd have had plenty of lovers and would be thoroughly experienced. We laughed about being all clueless and shy and awkward together, but somehow we both wanted it all the more because of that.”

“So then my parents find a suitable mate for me—one of my father's junior officers who's also from an important family. And it's not that this bothers me that much. I mean, I always knew it was going to happen. And Shock always knew it was going to happen. But here's the catch. I'm to be bonded in about three deca-cycles. Shock actually got some leave, and he's going to be back here on Cybertron in about ten days.” Stormwing gave another laugh—this one indicating some embarrassment. “So we made plans...”

“That's so sweet,” Tailgate purred. The young mech's fingers dropped to his abdomen and were rubbing the flex-seams in such a way that Tailgate's sensornet began charging.

“But then my parents also decide that I shouldn't be getting bonded without some experience in the berth first. They tried throwing a few of their friends in my path, but I didn't take the bait. Then they just blatantly sent one of their servants to do the deed, but I threw him out. They're always so worried about me. I can take care of myself perfectly fine.” The fingers traced a perfect circle just above Tailgate's hip fairing. “Well, okay, I was wrong about that thing with one going unconscious from overloading, but I'm sure Shock and I would have figured that out on our own.”

“Do your parents know about Shock?”

“No. He and I have kept our relationship a secret. It's not like we'll ever be together, except for this. We'll have half an orn together, and then never see each other again. But at least we'll have that. And being the first interface for both of us, it was going to give us something to remember forever. No offense, but I don't want to loose my virginity to some prostitute.”

“I understand. And I think it's wonderful that you and Shock will have this one night together.”

“Three nights. I'm supposedly 'going hunting with friends' for four days.” Stormwing's hand dropped to caress the join of Tailgate's thigh and hip assembly, Tailgate gasping wildly.

“It feels good there?”

“Very.”

“I guess you were right. There is a lot more to 'facing than just connecting one's equipment.” His fingertips tried the other side. “Thank you for showing me.”

“You're going to make Shock's circuits sizzle.”

Stormwing chuckled. “It's going to be wonderful four days to remember.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Understood" continues in Chapter 47

-o-o-o-o-o-


	47. Chapter 47

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate was surprised to see the message.

I don't know if you remember me. My name is Skysight. We met on the Kaon Gorge cruise. My sister hired you as your date. Anyway, you said to call you if I ever needed someone. I could use someone. Where can I find you?  
Peace through Tyranny,  
Skysight

Tailgate did remember him—the depressed receiver-array from that cruise. The one with a serious drinking problem. And he quickly messaged back.

I'm working at the House of Red Curtains in Uravan Bridges now—no longer in Overdock where Replay found me. Did you wish to meet for business? Or were you just wanting to talk?

The message came back shortly.

Business.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate clutched at the covers of his berth, bent over face down with the tiny mech gripping his hips and pounding hard into him. Skysight was just as he remembered—something of a sadness in his optics, overcharged on high-grade, and frantically chasing an overload. And then suddenly he cried out, his movement stilling as yet another wave of electric pleasure coursed through his frame.

Tailgate squeezed back against the little spike inside of him, stretching out the overload as long as possible. And when it had finally played out, Skysight leaned down against Tailgate, kissing his neck and shoulders hungrily. “You're wonderful... so wonderful. I love you so much, Tailgate,” he panted. And then he wriggled down beside him and kissed his mouth, his roving glossa flapping against Tailgate's own. He then pushed apart Tailgate's legs and was at it again, grinding hard into the red-painted mech.

And so it went on for two more overloads. Then he tapped Tailgate on the side. “On your back.”

Tailgate obeyed, marveling at the tiny mech's stamina.

“I want your spike now.”

Tailgate obliged and Skysight climbed on, perching atop the red mech. He opened his valve covers and then eased down onto the little-used spike. 

Five more overloads came of it, two of them Tailgate's, until at last the receiver array, finally sated, collapsed exhausted onto Tailgate's chest. “Tailgate, I love you. Tell me you love me too. Just tell me. I don't care if you mean it. Just tell me.”

Tailgate stroked Skysight's false wings. It was rare that he serviced a mech smaller than himself, and there was something nice in the cuddling of a frame he could get his arms around. Perhaps that was what Cyclonus enjoyed in minibots, but to a greater degree. “I love you, little one,” he whispered, his fingers exploring the plate-tips.

“Hold me.”

Tailgate wrapped his arms around the receiver array, and they lay together in stillness, Skysight crying softly against Tailgate's chest.

“Thank you. Thank you so much, Tailgate.”

They lay together for some time, the white, green and gold mech soon dropping into recharge. And when his large block of purchased time finally ran out, Tailgate woke him gently. 

“Tailgate, we're going on the Kaon Gorge cruise again. Would you like to come with me? It would be about the same arrangement as before,” Skysight asked as he cleaned himself up.

“Your siblings wouldn't mind if you hired me?”

“I found you first this time,” he giggled.

Tailgate thought again of his time with Skysight's family, and how much he had enjoyed it, and just how beautiful it had all been. At this point he'd given up on ever making the cruise with Swerve. “I'd like to go.”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	48. Chapter 48

-o-o-o-o-o-

Skysight met Tailgate at the dock of the White Palace and together they went up the gangplank. There stood the carrier mech, who greeted Tailgate warmly. On his arm was the same Decepticon companion from the previous journey. The Cybercat was also there on the leash of the beautiful green femme of last time. Review, the darker blue cassetticon, greeted him, arms folded over his chest. “I heard Skysight found you. Lucky glitchmouse.”

“He did,” Tailgate said apologetically.

“Maybe next time. I'll be sure to get your contact frequency.”

Tailgate looked about. “Is Replay here yet?” He'd reviewed his memory files of the previous trip to familiarize himself with the family again.

Faces fell. “She's no longer with us. Contrary to the Autobot propaganda, Praxus did fight back, and there were quite a few Deception casualties, Replay among them,” the carrier-mech said slowly.

“Oh goodness. I'm so sorry,” Tailgate said, pulling his hands to his chest. On the last trip, Skysight was in mourning. But this time it was clear that they all were.

“It's all right,” said the carrier peacefully. “We're here to have a good time and forget what this war has done to us.”

“Agreed,” said the green cybercat. “No talk of those we've lost. For now, we live in the present.” His long tail wrapped around the green femme's leg and he smiled up at her.

The party all rumbled their agreement.

The host-mech paid Tailgate and the date Review had brought along, a red and yellow half-size mech Tailgate didn't recognize. And then Skysight took Tailgate down to his cabin. Inside, Tailgate took a look out of the window at the port, the diamondelle trim around the glass glittering in the sunlight. Somehow this time it seemed more gaudy than before. Behind him he could hear Skysight pouring drinks.

“Come on, Tailgate. Let's get overcharged and then frag like a couple of seekers... at least until we get to the canyon.”

Tailgate turned back around and took the drink the receiver-array was offering. “Sounds fun.” They drank together, but Tailgate had barely finished his before Skysight shoved him enthusiastically into the bed.

-o-o-o-o-o-

When the White Palace arrived at the Kaon Gorge, Skysight and Tailgate made a quick go of cleaning their plating before heading upstairs to the upper deck. The carrier was there, snuggling with his lover. Up at the front of the deck the cybercat and his pretty companion were posing for pictures. Skysight sat Tailgate down on one of the big cushions. “Wait here, sweets. I'm going to go get us some drinks.”

Tailgate relaxed into the cushions. This second journey wasn't quite as exciting as the first, the thrill of the new experience absent, but he was glad to be there. At least for the moment things in his life were going well. He had employment. He had a safe place to work and live. He had a number of good regular clients. He had Cyclonus looking after him.

And then he had a fancy cocktail in his hand and a pair of high-grade soaked lips pressed to his own. “You're so adorable,” murmured Skysight through their kiss. Next thing he knew the cassetticon was climbing on top of him pushing him into the cushion with his sloppy kisses.

The others in the family started laughing, and laughing louder when the carrier grabbed Skysight by the false wings and lifted him off of his date. “Skysight, please. Didn't you get enough in your cabin?”

Still dangling in his carrier's hand, the little mech sighed. “Sorry. Got excited.”

“Better take them back downstairs” advised Review. “Let Skysight work it out of his system.”

The others all laughed again.

Tailgate straightened up and moved over in the cushion as the carrier set Skysight down beside him. “You two behave yourselves. Maybe look at the view?” the big mech said pleasantly.

Tailgate liked the sound of the carrier's voice. Calm and even. Cheerful but realistic. His tone was completely unlike the current fashion for carrier mechs since Soundwave had become Megatron's third-in-command. But it was more than that. This carrier obviously cared deeply for his family, and every time Tailgate glanced over, he could see a sadness tinting the mech's smile. Replay's loss had probably hit him the hardest.

“Fine. Fine.” Skysight picked up his drink again and downed it so quickly Tailgate wondered if he'd even tasted it. And then the receiver-array snuggled into him, pressed his lips to Tailgate's neck in what could be considered a sweet kiss. “I'll behave.” Two kliks later the tiny mech was in recharge.

Tailgate sighed contentedly and looked up at the walls of the canyon gliding past. It was so comfortable here, cradled in the huge soft cushion, pleasantly tipsy, sexually sated, cradled in another mech's embrace. The White Palace cruises were so far removed from the struggles of the streets and the burdens of life and the tragedy of the war. Worries were forgotten. Engex flowed excessively. Mechs only needed to sit back and have their every need tended to. And even though he was technically working, it was still paradise. All he had to do was smile and part his legs and be good company to his employer. And somehow he even felt as if the carrier mech was looking after him as well. Perfection. Peace and perfection.

If only it could last forever.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyclonus reveals that the status quo is about to change in Kaon, compliments of Decepticon high command.

-o-o-o-o-o-

It was supposed to be a secret but everyone seemed to know that something was up in the works. The house's Decepticon regulars began coming in with a noticeable increase in frequency and spending their credits with a marked increase in frivolousness and generosity. Most of the boarders were kept busy with in and out of house engagements. The pages were kept very busy bringing gifts and crystal blooms to the rooms. Tailgate found himself regularly whisked away from the House of Red Curtains for companionship before being hauled into a berth. He was even taken out twice more on the White Palace cruise, which was running at hundred percent capacity for the first time in a long time.

Cyclonus was no exception to the trend. A new gift arrived for Tailgate arrived every morning—the silly, pretty, sparkly things he liked—and Cyclonus recharged in his berth almost every night. Tailgate loved it, though he felt somewhat guilty as after a long, busy shift on and off the viewing floor, he usually had very little time to tidy the room and put fresh covers onto the berth before the arrival of his patron.

Eventually Tailgate addressed it as he and Cyclonus shared a tray of Amethyst Prism cubes in between rounds of 'facing.

Cyclonus first scowled at him. But then his expression softened. “I'm being transferred. A lot of us are being transferred.”

Tailgate knew better than to ask further questions. While it was obvious a lot of the officers knew, the bulk of the Decepticon forces did not. In fact the majority of them probably had less of an idea than the boarders did. But there were questions he could ask without offending Cyclonus, nor the answers revealing too much about upcoming strategies. “How long will you be gone?”

“I don't know.” Cyclonus downed the rest of his current cube and snuggled in closer to his tiny lover. “It depends on the Autobots. You could ask Optimus Prime. I heard he's been downstairs a few times lately,” he teased.

Tailgate giggled at the rare bit of humor. “Optimus never chooses me so I never get to talk to him. He usually picks Dancer or Highlight when he's here with his officers,” he teased back. But then his face grew grave. “If you're leaving Kaon, will I have to leave the House of Red Curtains?”

Cyclonus hummed. “I've made arrangements with Gloss. You will have a place here as long as you continue to take guests.”

“Really? You'll continue to be my patron even though you'll be away?”

“I'm afraid that's all I can do for you at this point.” The purple mech lifted the half-empty cube from Tailgate's hand and set it on the bedside table. “But it should be enough.”

“Cyclonus, you're so good to me,” Tailgate purred as the Decepticon pulled him into his lap.

“Probably,” came the response, muffled by the cabling of Tailgate's neck. And then the jet paused, heaving a deep sigh. “You're the only one who's ever been good to me.”

Tailgate's optics brightened. “What do you mean? Surely there've...”

Cyclonus cut him off with a kiss to his neck that was more of a bite. “Enough talk. Use your mouth for something else.”

Tailgate smiled apprehensively up at the big mech. “May I use it to kiss you back?”

“Always,” was the answer, his voice softer than usual.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gamma returns for a visit, and Tailgate learns that dreams can come true.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Tailgate? You have a visitor,” called one of the pages over the railing down to the lower deck.

Tailgate rearranged the glittery golden shawl draped around his shoulders—this morning's gift from Cyclonus—and went up the stairs. One of his regulars perhaps? He'd seen a lot of them lately which meant that most, if not all, of them would be leaving Cybertron soon. This did not bode well for the future.

There in the lounge sat Gamma with an olive green Decepticon. “Tailgate!” she squeaked, bouncing out of her chair and opening her arms to him. “Hey, you look good in red.” It had been a long time since he'd seen her. Had Gamma tracked him down with a business proposition? They had teamed up often enough back when, but this was the first time she'd come to the House of Red Curtains. And actually it was the first time they'd even seen each other since he'd taken up residence here.

Tailgate laughed, flinging himself into her embrace.“Well thank you. You look good too. It's quite a change.” Her colors weren't what they'd been back on Seventh Cycle Street, that eye-catching mix of pink and black. Now she was a lovely soft blue with white highlights.

“You're so sweet. Tailgate, I want to introduce you to someone.” She turned to the mech she'd been sitting with. “Tailgate, this is Captain Skyserpent,” she said, gesturing to him. “I don't know if you remember him, but he used to visit me on Seventh Cycle back when. Begged me to be his conjunx.”

“Hmm.... maybe. Let me see...” He began to go through his memory banks to those early days.

The Decepticon rose and nodded in greeting, and Tailgate noticed that he wore some of the new armor and weaponry the faction was issuing its officers.

Tailgate did remember. There was the puppycon, looking a whole lot less impressive and not wearing the markings of an officer. “Oh, Gamma. You promised him...”

“And I made good on my promise,” she said happily. “We bonded a few days ago, and I wanted to show you. And... to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?”

“As a captain, he's allowed to take me with him.” She looked up the big mech fondly. “I'll have a new home aboard the Omen of Fortune.”

The Decepticon captain looked down at her, patting her hand fondly. “My first command. It's only a heavy transport, but it's a beautiful brand new ship. And it should be a lot safer to keep a bondmate aboard a supply craft than a warship.” His tone was full of excitement and pride.

Tailgate suddenly felt a twinge of jealousy. Cyclonus far outranked this mech, and yet he was being left behind.

Gamma embraced Tailgate again. “So I wanted to say goodbye, because I don't know if I'll ever be back or if I'll ever see you again, Tailgate. I know we've not been close since you came here to the House of Red Curtains, but I still do and always will consider you a friend.” When she pulled back, Tailgate saw the tears in her optics.

“Gamma, I'll always be your friend. Together or apart,” he managed. And then he realized that he himself was crying. “I'm very happy for you, that your dreams came true.”

Gamma laughed through her sadness. “His dreams came true,” she tittered, looking up a the officer. “He was the one that wanted me, and now he has me.”

Skyserpent chuckled and stroked her head. “And when I find out what her dreams are, I'll do my best to fulfill them.”

Tailgate felt his spark sink to the bottom of its chamber.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tailgate and four other boarders entertain a full squadron of seekers at a party. Non-stop debauchery ensues.

-o-o-o-o-o-

A loud cheer erupted as Gloss opened the door to the party suite and the five chosen pleasurebots—Tailgate among them—entered. A crowd of seekers and other volitants, most with drinks in hand, greeted them with wild applause. No wonder Gloss had warned his staff outside that things might get a bit rowdy inside.

“My esteemed guests, I'd like to introduce you to some of my finest boarders here at the House of Red Curtains,” Gloss began when the cheering died down.. “They have generously offered to serve you here tonight to the best of their ability.” He went down the line, placing his hand on each shoulder, giving the name of each pleasurebot he'd selected for the afternoon. “Dancer... Tailgate... Thunder... Moonlight... and Red Shift.”

Hooting and catcalls followed each naming. The group had been there for half a cycle already, warming up with a few cocktails and cubes of high-grade.

One of the seekers, of green and black plating and a Decepticon sigil edged in silver, stepped forward with a sideways smile. “Well I'd introduce us, but all you need to know is that we're the illustrious Seventeeth Forward Aerial Assault Squadron, and that you're about to be ruined to all other clients,” he said cockily, his thumbs hooked over his hip plates.

Tailgate made a quick count. There were fourteen of them, mostly Vosian seekers. This was going to be one heck of a party. And thankfully he didn't see the blue and orange seeker among them.

“I'll leave you to it, then. The bar is all yours until the drinks are gone. And again, I must remind you that the bartender I've provided is not available for your pleasure beyond the mixing of drinks, cute as he is.” Applause and cheers followed.

Tailgate looked over to see Shane in his red scarf waving from the counter with a thermal spoon in hand. 

“And if you do wear out these lovelies or don't wish to share, there are others available upstairs for private hire,” Gloss added, gesturing again at the pleasurebots. There were yet more cheers as he exited, wishing his employees the best.

Immediately Tailgate found himself with a deep red seeker on one arm and a larger but less armed flyer on the other, the two tugging at him. “Come sit with us sweetie... have a drink,” they were coaxing. Tailgate looked about to see his other four co-workers being led away to the couches and the alcoves, usually by pairs or trines of the Decepticons. A trine of three femmes had Moonlight and were all but dragging her off to one of the alcoves. Not that she was protesting. She was giggling and wiggling all the way.

“My name's Hotstrike,” said the deep red mech, pulling Tailgate onto a couch. “And this is some guy who thinks he's cool enough to hang out with us,” he said, indicating the other mech with a nod of his head.

“I'm going to remember that the next time you're all shot up and begging for me for help, Hotstrike,” said the other mech, obviously uninsulted. “Ever been with a medic?” the black and white flyer whispered in Tailgate's audial. “After you've been all shot up by the rest of these guys, you'll be begging for me too.”

Tailgate looked to see the universal emblem of those in the repair field upon the flyer's shoulders. “I've never been with a medic before,” he admitted.

“In that case, this is going to be a night you'll remember until the heat death of the universe,” the medic grinned.

“All talk. Medics are all talk,” the seeker laughed. And then he let go of Tailgate's arm and stood. “Keep the others off of him for me, Wrench. I'm gonna go get us some drinks.”

By the time Hotstrike was back, Wrench had Tailgate's legs apart, his panel open, and was grinding his spike deep into the minibot. “You slagger,” the seeker complained. “I told you to keep the others off of of him. Not frag him.”

The medic laughed. “This was the only way I could. Hardwing and Ice came by and told me I'd better use him or lose him.” He looked at Tailgate beneath him. “Right, cutie?”

“He's not kidding,” Tailgate agreed with some difficulty. The medic had gone from full stop to full ahead just moments after getting into his valve.

“And damn this one's tight. You'll thank me for getting here first to loosen him up a little for you.”

The deep red seeker sighed. “Whatever.” He handed one of the three cocktails he was carrying to the medic, who paused briefly to chug it with full speed, before handing the glass back to his friend and continuing with what he'd been doing. In a couple of kliks, he overloaded with a tremendous strut-rattling shudder.

With some difficulty he pulled off of Tailgate and collapsed onto the couch, his frame still quivering and sparking. “Damn I needed that,” he croaked.

Hotstrike helped Tailgate to sit and handed him one of the two drinks that remained. “Drink a toast with me, little guy,” he said, sitting beside him.

“Well sure,” grinned Tailgate, closing up his array. Not that it would stay closed for long.

The seeker lifted his glass. “Here's to the illustrious Seventeenth. May the Autobots tremble with fear at our mention, and the sweetsparks tremble with desire.”

They drank, and then Hotstrike took their glasses, pulled Tailgate into his lap, and kissed his helm on the forepart. “Now let me show you how much better a warrior is than a medic,” he leered.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still exhausted from the previous day's orgy, Tailgate has to make some decisions.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate woke to the insistent beeping of Gloss' comm'. ::Mmmph?::

::Tailgate, I do apologize for disturbing you, but may I book you for a four-cycle appointment for today?::

::Hmmmph?:: he replied groggily. ::What? Today?::

::One of your regulars has requested you. Lieutenant Airbyte of Triax. He is very sincerely hoping for some time with you this afternoon.::

::Gloss, I'm kinda... 'used up' from yesterday...:: Tailgate sighed.

::I know, and I do apologize for asking, but the lieutenant was quite insistent that I ask even when I explained that you're not quite at your usual. I did offer him time with some of the other boarders, but he still insisted.::

Tailgate rolled over and tried to extract himself from the berth covers but found it impossible. 'Not quite at his usual' was an understatement. The party had gone on for five cycles, and he'd rarely had a moment of rest. As he found out about halfway through, the nine seeker warriors—the core of the squadron—were betting on which of them would be the first to not only frag but also overload all five of their entertainers. One of the trine of femmes, the grey and pink one, had taken home that honor. But the others at the party—their commander and the support crew—had also gotten turns with the pleasurebots. Not too far in, a couple of the fliers brought Harmony down from upstairs and presented her to the commander so he didn't have to keep waiting for one of the other pleasurebots to become available. But that did very little to ease the constant 'fun.' Even with Thunder and his seemingly limitless stamina taking on two seekers at a time, Tailgate ended up completely exhausted. When it was over, he had staggered back to his room and collapsed in the washrack, where Cyclonus found him asleep under a shower of hot water a cycle later. He fell asleep under the jet not long after. ::And I'm pretty sure Cyclonus is coming over tonight, too. I want to have something left for him.:: 

::Cyclonus has you slated for the entire night.::

::I kind of left him hanging last night and I want to make up for it.:: Tailgate wished he had the energy to take care of both, and he hated to turn down the host-mech. Airbyte had become one of his favorite clients, second only to Cyclonus in fact, but the lonely communications officer would take a lot out of him. ::Can he schedule for tomorrow? I could really use a day off of the floor,:: Tailgate sighed. Besides the party, the demand for his services lately had left him rather worn.

::I hate to ask, but if you're sure, I will.::

Gloss had a reply a couple of kliks later. ::He will engage you in two days time with one special condition. He is asking for a full day.::

::I'm not looking at my schedule. Does Cyclonus have me down?::

::No.::

::I'll take it.::

::Thank you Tailgate. You're a good mech.::

::Thank you, Gloss. And with that, I'm going back to sleep.::

-o-o-o-o-o-


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tailgate spends time with a favorite client. It's not just an appointment; it's a long goodbye.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Airbyte was waiting in the lounge when Tailgate came down the morning of their scheduled appointment. A whole day. He'd have a whole day of entertaining the host-mech.

Airbyte popped out of his chair and knelt and taking the minibot's hands, kissed him chastely on the top of his helm. “Tailgate, looking lovely today,” he complimented. Tailgate still wasn't fond of that stylized way so many host-mechs spoke these days. A big thank you to Soundwave. But at least it was tolerable.

“Thank you, Carrier,” Tailgate said softly with a smile. He knew he looked lovely. He'd been pretty scratched and dinged up after the seeker party, and had dragged himself to the paint-parlor rather than attempting to remedy the mess of his plating himself. But even as raucous as the party had gotten at times, he'd managed to escape it with no more damage than that. And for today he'd applied a row of fake starstones to each hip as well as dusted his cheeks and chest with a bit of pink opalescent powder. Airbyte did like a little bit of glitz.

Another kiss followed. And then the host-mech returned to his chair and poured a drink from the heavy pitcher on the table into the empty glass beside it before topping off his own. “Drink please.”

Tailgate took the cup, holding it with both hands on finding it to be warmed high-grade, and sipped at it. “Ready for a day of fun upstairs?” he asked over the hot breakfast.

“Plans made. A visit to Lower Kaon first.”

“Oh?”

“A visit to the Crystal Gardens.”

Tailgate's visor lit up. “I've always wanted to go there.”

“Tourmaline trees in glow at this time.”

The minibot squeaked delightedly.

“Tailgate approves?”

He nodded vigorously. “Tailgate very much approves,” he said enthusiastically.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The taxi touched down in Lower Kaon, but on stepping out, Tailgate saw that they were nowhere near the quiet reaches of the gardens but instead along a busy commercial street. “Where are we, Carrier? This doesn't look like the Crystal Gardens.”

The big mech took his hand. “First, a gift.”

Tailgate allowed himself to be led into a nearby shop, which he immediately realized was a jeweler's. Inside, a pretty saleswoman met them. “Airbyte?”

The dark purple and tan mech nodded, and gently pushed Tailgate to the front. “The purchase is for him.”

The femme smiled, looking the little red mech up and down. “It will be perfect,” she smiled.

Just a few kliks later Tailgate was sitting at a counter in the back, his hands locked flat to a workbench. The jeweler drilled a tiny pit into the back of the minibot's left hand just below where the end finger attached. Between his hands on a fabric-lined tray sat two modestly-sized diamonds. Not starstones, but actual diamonds. And when the hole was complete, the jeweler checked the fit, and then carefully cemented one of the stones into it. A second hole followed on his right hand, and when the stone was attached, Tailgate's hands were freed.

“Carrier, they're beautiful,” Tailgate gasped, holding them up to the light.

Airbyte kissed him on the top of the head. “Something to remember me by,” he said soberly. And then he finalized the contract, thanked the jeweler, and escorted Tailgate out.

Tailgate tried not to cry. He had harbored suspicions, but this confirmed it. Not only would he be losing Cyclonus but Airbyte as well.

Later, as they strolled through the gardens, Tailgate kept admiring the small jewels now permanently a part of his frame. He'd admired the jewels some of the other boarders wore permanently set into their plating, but he'd never had any of his own, having settled for affordable glued-on decorations.

Later yet, as the cassette-carrier fragged him with all the enthusiasm of a squadron of seekers, he fought back tears, knowing that this was likely to be the last time he'd ever see Airbyte.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyclonus feels the need to one-up Tailgate's regular client.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Cyclonus noticed the diamonds just as Tailgate lifted a cube of high-grade to his mouth. They'd gone to Overdock and back to the Old Kaon Tavern on a whim. When the cube was lowered, he took Tailgate's nearest hand and inspected it. “Real,” he said. “Set properly.” He cocked his head slightly, a sign that he was curious but also expecting an answer.

“Those... yes. They're real.”

“Business must be quite good of late.”

Tailgate fidgeted. “Well yes... very good.”

The big jet's optics narrowed, making his faceplate look even more sinister than usual. “Yes, but? The whole story please, Tailgate.”

Tailgate cringed. His patron knew him far too well. Cyclonus could always tell when he was lying or withholding information. “They were a gift from a regular client. Something to remember him by, he said.”

Cyclonus did his best not to react. “I see.”

The minibot reached for his second cube, hoping that would be the end of it. He fussed with the seal, hoping that it might distract the purple mech.

“Another officer going off-world, I presume?” Cyclonus asked flatly.

“Yeah.”

“Diamonds represent strength and undying love.”

Tailgate tried not to choke on the high-grade. Was Cyclonus jealous? “He chose them; not me.”

Cyclonus studied the minibot for a moment. “Perhaps I should give you something as well.”

“It's not necessary. You've already given me so much!” Tailgate responded quickly. “You pay my rent and come to see me all the time. You take me out places and buy me drinks. You always treat me with kindness and respect.” He raised the glowing pink cube in his hand for emphasis.

“Hmmmph.”

“You do,” Tailgate assured.

Cyclonus turned his head to look out of the Old Kaon Tavern's front windows, where a light rain was trying to fall but never really mustering any strength. That would change soon enough. Winter would arrive within a few deca-cycles.

Tailgate sat quietly, obviously seeing that his patron was preoccupied with something else. And then after a couple breems, the tall mech suddenly stood and took the minibot by the hand. “Let's go.” After leaving a few credit chips on the table for their waitress, he all but dragged Tailgate out of the bar.

And instead of dragging him into the Swinging Gate Hotel as Tailgate had been expecting, he instead transformed and popped open his canopy. Hopping in obediently, they were soon in the skies and across Kaon.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

When Tailgate recognized that Cyclonus was leading him into a jeweler's shop, he realized that Cyclonus intended to make good on his threat. “I apologize for this being so late and on such short notice,” the Decepticon said humbly to the mech that met them.

“It's all right. I've had a lot of unusual requests lately,” he said.

“Thank you for being understanding.”

From a safe behind the counter, the jeweler pulled out a tray of unset stones, offering them and a seat to the mechs. “Here we are. A nice collection of purple stones.”

Cyclonus chose quickly. “This one,” he said, a claw pointing at a medium-sized stone—smooth and round with two ethereal six-pointed stars gleaming within it.

“Ah, that one is special—a synthetic fancy sapphire with a double asterism.” He looked to Tailgate. “I'm told this is for you?”

Tailgate looked a touch embarrassed. “I think so.”

“It is,” Cyclonus confirmed flatly.

The jeweler smiled, much in the way the first one had. “You are indeed a cherished companion,” he said.

Cyclonus snorted. “Mount it on his spark-chamber please.”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new 'normal' after Megatron pulls the bulk of his forces out of Kaon. And the terror that followed.

-o-o-o-o-o-

It was all... so quiet.

So very quiet.

Business had fallen the morning they watched seven Decepticon worldsweepers and a host of other warships descend on Kaon, only to depart by sunset. It quickly became obvious that Megatron had moved the bulk of his Kaonian forces elsewhere, leaving behind his administration and the puppycons.

Then came the Decepticon assault on Luna-Three.

Over the next several meta-cycles, the world they'd known began to shut down. Gloss fretted over the lack of business. The boarders with him. He encouraged them to seek out additional work, and for the first time allowed them to stand outside of the house and solicit business.

But it wasn't just the House of Red Curtains struggling. According to the news feeds, the whole economy had taken a huge hit from the pullout of Megatron's forces, particularly in the entertainment and luxury sectors. Bars and brothels were shutting down all across Kaon. The number of paint parlors halved. Modification shops were disappearing left and right. Sellers of luxury goods went bankrupt, their stock sitting beneath a layer of dust. The hotels stood empty of residents and guests. Seventh Cycle street became all but a shadow of it's former sleazy glory.

Tailgate himself fretted. At least Cyclonus was still paying his rent, and he would have somewhere safe to live thanks to that. But the additional money was no longer coming in—that pleasant comfort followed by the feast had moved on to a famine. An orn where he entertained more than three or four guests was a rarity. He'd thankfully had enough sense to suddenly stop spending his earnings frivolously just after the departure. Besides, Cyclonus and some of his other clients had showered him with plenty of gifts before their departure. He didn't need anything else.

But it wasn't just about the money. He felt lonely. “You got spoiled,” he sighed far too often to himself. Cyclonus' frequent visits and the regular business had kept him socially satisfied. He missed the adoration Airbyte had blanketed him with, and often reminisced of the dark purple and light tan mech cradling him in his huge arms. He missed the black and white medic from the seeker party, who had come back to visit him twice more after that party. He missed the thrill of watching a mech come to the viewing platform and looking down over the options and smile as his optics came around to him. Even more he missed the joyful sounds of a delighted customer kissing him in post-overload bliss. More than that he missed the sounds of his patron in recharge. Now, with his arms wrapped around a pillow, he slept alone most nights wishing that it were Cyclonus' arm or leg he embraced.

He missed Swerve too. He'd tried contacting him several times, but there had never been a response.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The newsfeeds blared with the first warnings, and the bombs began to fall only a breem later. The Autobots, in retaliation for the Decepticon conquest of Luna-Three, were striking the only lightly-guarded Kaon. The entire city went into lockdown as the first wave of bombers filled the skies, lighter ordinance falling at random across the city. Heavier bombs followed with specific targets. Outer Kaon, West Kaon, and the Docklands were soon turned into heaps of rubble.

In the sub-basement of the House of Red Curtains, the boarders, the pages, the two customers who had been there, and Gloss huddled together in terror praying to Primus that it would be over soon. The ground shook with explosions and the noise could be deafening at times even so far underground. Tailgate found himself squeezed in Thunder's arms, the big mech whimpering and cradling the minibot for comfort. Dancer was making a huge racket with his imploring cries to Primus. Chase was wailing for his patron to come rescue him. Shane and the other Sandians huddled in an alcove praying to Epistemus.

When it was over, the mechs thankfully found themselves able to escape up a stairwell. To their surprise the House had not been significantly damaged despite the noise that said otherwise. The building across the street however had sustained several hits.

Until darkness fell they wandered about amazed, torn between their amazement at their survival given the state of so many of the buildings around then, their horror at how much destruction had been wrought in just four cycles, and their fear for the future. They weren't the only ones—the rest of Kaon's survivors were out as well, taking in the carnage.

As night fell they joined in some of the rescue efforts, helping to clear away rubble so emergency vehicles could get through. Thunder, for his size, was conscripted by a team digging out survivors from a collapsed building nearby. Gloss quickly opened all of the empty rooms in the house to mechs whose homes had been lost, assuring them four orns rent-free. The party room in the basement became a makeshift medical ward, the former berths of pleasure becoming berths of healing.

In the days after, Tailgate frequently stood at his missing window—the glass having been shattered in the bombing—and stared out at the skies. He missed Cyclonus even more now, and he made a daily check of the Decepticon lists of those who had died in service. But his patron's name never appeared on them. Nor were there any messages from him. A few times he dared to call Cyclonus' comm', but the message of unavailability never changed. He tried to distract himself by going down to the party room and helping out the medic there, even if all he could do was hold worried patients' hands and sweep the floor and clean up after surgeries.

Slowly, as the deca-cycles passed and winter returned, things began to resemble a state of normalcy again—at least what had been normal after the departure of the troops. But they all knew nothing would ever be normal ever again. The heyday of Kaon they'd enjoyed was long gone, never to return.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The owner of the House of Red Curtains announces that he'll be closing up shop due to the current conditions in Kaon. Tailgate is faced with a difficult decision--to remain behind in Kaon or to emigrate to an alien world with his employers.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Gloss gathered his crew together on the lower deck, Bluster bringing around drinks for everyone. The four pages huddled around one table. Tachyon, the doctor, sat upon a couch framed in by Moonlight and Red Shift. At a small table, Thoughtbox, the owner of the House of Red Curtains, sat sipping at a glass of overly-refined oil—a rarity these days.

“Well this can't be good,” Dancer whispered to Tailgate, the two sharing a table.

“Do you think they're closing the house? Almost all of the houses in Kaon Riverside are closed,” Tailgate whispered back to the lithe femme.

“Maybe. Business has been down. Ever since the big transfer to Luna Three, and the bombing.

When Bluster had served everyone, Thoughtbox rose and looked around at the assemblage. And then he smiled sadly. “I know you're all worried,” he began. “It's not often that I call a meeting.”

The mechs and femmes could all tell it was coming, and their faces showed the worry.

“Kaon has changed much over the aeons,” Thoughtbox continued slowly. “I was here when this city was little more than a transportation stop on the Kaon River. And from there it grew into a magnificent metropolis. But those days are over, and while I've weathered many changes and storms here, I'm retreating from this one.” He paused to sip at his drink while everyone waited tensely. “I am closing the House of Red Curtains. As you know, most of the other houses have closed as well.”

There were sad sighs from the employees, and even a loud sob from Thunder. His hands went up to cover his green optics.

“Tachyon has accepted an officer's commission in the Decepticon army. Gloss and I...” He looked at his long time manager. “Gloss and I are headed for an outpost known as Troja Major to wait out the storm.” Thoughtbox gave a moment for the information to sink in before addressing the boarders. “We understand that work in your occupation will be difficult to come by. You've all seen the out of work prostitutes. Gloss has told me that before the bombing he had at least two a day coming into his office looking for a job, and I doubt the market has improved since then. On the positive side I do know that the weapons factories are still hiring and rebuilding, and that there are some jobs out there yet.”

Gloss was nodding his head in agreement.

“In lieu of working here in Kaon though, I wish to extend an offer. I shall be setting up a new house on Troja Major, and if you wish to come with me and work there, I shall pay for your transport. The planet is a long way from home, and there are few Cybertronians there. I cannot make any guarantees about the conditions or if the business will be good, but I can at least give you that.”

Gloss and Thoughtbox were besieged with questions, and they answered as best they could. Tailgate just sat though, wondering at the state of things. Could he really leave Kaon? Swerve was still somewhere out there. And Cyclonus... If Cyclonus came back he'd be expecting to find his favorite companion here in Kaon. But then did he really have to stay for them? Swerve had been angry when he announced that he'd be moving into a house and abandoning the apartment. And Cyclonus... who was he kidding? Cyclonus was just a client.

Bluster filled their glasses again and they all drank a toast to the delight that had once been the House of Red Curtains, and then the boarders shuffled back to their rooms. They had one orn to gather themselves and go before the facilities were turned over to a management company.

Tailgate began to gather his things immediately, carefully stowing them away in a couple of crates. Most were trinkets and gifts from clients that he'd collected over his career in Kaon. And then when he passed the mirror, he paused and took a long look at himself. Perhaps he should follow Thoughtbox and Gloss to Troja Major. He really didn't know Thoughtbox, but he trusted Gloss completely. An alien world wouldn't seem so alien with the others there.

And then he opened his chestplate to look at the sapphire mounted on his spark-chamber.

His spark-chamber. A valuable gem hidden away where only he would see it. Everyone had noticed the diamonds mounted on the backs of his hands, but the sapphire had remained his secret.

A secret. A mystery.

Cyclonus did have feelings for him.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tailgate, with the closing of the House of Red Curtains, returns to the familiar realm of Seventh Cycle Street.

-o-o-o-o-o- 

Winter in Overdock. It all seemed so nostalgic.

Tailgate stood once again beneath the broad reflector of the streetside light in front of the Old Kaon Tavern, trying not to shiver and hoping the wind didn't pick up. Thankfully the Puppycons and the administrators were at least out tonight despite the icy rain, payday credits in hand. However there was a lot of competition for their business as well. From where he stood, Tailgate counted seven other mechs and femmes hoping for the same thing he was, and that was just in the section of Seventh Cycle Street that he could see.

Tailgate leaned back against the lamppost and pulled up memories of the past—of games of rollback with Swerve, of conversations with Hot Spot and Gamma, of drinks in the nearby taverns with clients, of enticing a fright-faced purple officer. Those days hadn't been perfect, but they had been an adventure. And even fun at times.

Now, it was just lonely.

He sighed and then turned himself so that his wires and licensing tags were obvious to the handful of Puppycons that bustled past, putting on a smile as he did so.

No interest.

He ran through his old mantra again. Don't look desperate. Don't look like you need the money. Smile and look attractive. Be a tease.

He'd seen Hot Spot just a a few days after returning to Overdock. The minibot still worked here, either showrooming a few blocks up the street or in front of the dockyard quay. Despite having been heavily bombed, the dockyards had recovered quickly and the mechs were back at work there again. The two minibots had gone out for some energon and caught up on things and then promised to stay in touch. Since then they'd only seen each other in passing, both hurrying off elsewhere.

A solitary administrator walked past, his function easily identified by the particular supplementary antennae attached to his helm. He staggered slightly, obviously on his way home from an evening of drinking.

Tailgate brazenly called to him. “Hey, it sure is cold out tonight.”

“Sure is,” the mech laughed back, his steps slowing a little to look at the little red-painted mech. “Cold and wet.”

“Need someone to keep you warm tonight? Six hundred credits to keep you from shivering.”

“For how long?”

Tailgate's spirits perked up at the mech's interest.

“Two cycles. A thousand will get you six cycles of berth warming.” He really was selling himself too cheaply for a payday, but a night spent in a hotel room or an administrator's residence would be better than the miserable little apartment he was sharing with two other mechs. And tonight certainly wasn't going to be the non-stop business that paydays had once been.

The mech limped over, his gyros fighting for control with his intoxication. Bright orange optics roved the minibot's frame as melting sleet rolled down dull purple plating. “A thousand for six cycles?”

“Just a thousand. You and me, somewhere nice and cozy, snuggling until dawn. Doesn't that sound good?”

Tailgate could tell the mech was smiling even though a mask hid his mouth.

“Sure. I'll go for that,” the administrator said. “I live just over in Little Iacon if you don't mind a short walk.”

“Not at all,” Tailgate said smoothly.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years have passed since the closing of the House of Red Curtains. While out trying for a customer on a cold winter day, Tailgate is offered employment at a small brothel in West Kaon.

-o-o-o-o-o- 

Tailgate smiled as the grounder approached. He was glad he'd decided to risk coming out on such a miserable winter night, his seventh winter in Overdock since the closing of the House of Red Curtains. There were few other streetwalkers about, and one customer would make the wet and cold worth it. Soggy snow had fallen most of the day, and while the precipitation had now slowed to almost nothing, the slush that remained on the ground was ankle-deep.

“Hey! Got a little time?” asked the purple and dull yellow mech. His optics, an unusual gleaming purple, glinted even in the dreary winter weather.

“Of course,” answered Tailgate amiably, tilting his helm for a little charm.

“Let's go have a drink. I'll buy you something.”

This was good to hear. Even if the grounder didn't hire him, a drink would keep him fueled for a few days. Things had been tight, and even now, keeping fuel in his tanks was a challenge. He'd either sold or traded away his possessions. His pair of diamonds had gone for rent and energon long ago, keeping him afloat for a meta-cycle. His savings had slowly dwindled to nothing.

The two went into the doorway of the Old Kaon Tavern where the doorman worked them dry with the wonderfully warm air jet. They sat in a booth, and a waitress appeared with her tray of drinks. The mech pulled four cubes of basic high-grade off of the tray, set them upon the table, and then he paid and even tipped her.

“Well this is nice,” commented Tailgate. He thought back to a day so long ago with similarly miserable weather in which he'd been invited in for a drink by a seeker femme and had ended up servicing both her and one of her trinemates. That still remained a treasured memory of his first stint in Overdock. He waited until his potential customer had broken the seal on one of his cubes before touching his, eagerly grabbing it then and drinking most of it in one go. He'd not fueled for two days.

“Good. Hey, I wanted to talk business with you,” said the mech, purple optics roving his frame.

“All right. I ask four hundred credits for the first cycle and three hundred for each additional cycle. If you want me until dawn it's just twelve hundred.”

The mech laughed. “Well this business isn't what you're thinking. You see, my friend and I are running a small bar and brothel and we're down a couple of pleasurebots.”

Somewhere deep inside there came an excited twinge from Tailgate's processors. “Really? Go on.”

“Well, it's not a fancy place—just a few rooms downstairs—but we're looking for a couple of mechs or femmes. Would you be interested?”

Tailgate tried to contain his excitement. “I would. I used to work in a pleasure house in Uravan Bridges until it closed down. The owner decided to leave the planet.”

“Well this isn't much of a pleasure house, but it would be steady work. Very steady work. We do a good trade in our location over in West Kaon.”

“I could use steady work. It's been pretty quiet here in Overdock... ever since the pull-out and the bombings.”

“So I've heard.” The mech picked up his cube again and drank again. “Mmmm... good,” he appraised of the contents.

“So where do I go for an interview or what?” asked Tailgate, still trying not to sound too eager. But it was probably quite obvious that he was excited by the prospect of such a job.

“Well, if you're serious about it, we'll give you an interview. And if we like you, you can start work that night.”

“Really? Just like that?”

“Yep.”

“What about licensing, and getting a doctor to look me over first?”

The mech laughed his oily laugh again. “You look healthy to me, and obviously your tags are up to date,” he said, gesturing at Tailgate's arm. The fashion was now to wear one's accumulated licensing tags upon the dangling wires so that they jingled prettily and showed experience. “That should cover anything and we'll take care of your local licensing.”

“I guess so. When I worked at the House of Red Curtains they required a full check and even a repaint first. They even had a private physician on call.”

“Must have been a nice place. We do have our own physician around too. He comes by to check the staff about once a deca-cycle. But like I said, this isn't somewhere fancy. I hope you're okay with that.”

Tailgate smirked. “I've been working the streets in Overdock. It's not exactly glamorous,” he assured his potential employer. “The House of Red Curtains was very nice, but all good things come to an end,” he sighed.

“So they do.” He picked up his cube a third time and drank the remainder. “Know of anyone else who might consider working for us?” he asked after the last few drops had been sucked out.

“Possibly. I do know a few guys around here that might be interested in house work.” Tailgate thought immediately of Hot Zone. They'd known each other a long time and had considered themselves friends ever since the White Palace trip up the Kaon Gorge. Why they'd not become partners yet he wasn't sure, what with Swerve and Gamma gone. If he was going to mention a potential house job to anyone, it would be Hot Zone. 

The other mech smiled, denta showing through tightly held lip components. “Tell you what. I'll come pick you up tomorrow. If you find someone who you think would be suited to the job as well, have him or her with you. I'll take you over for an interview and see how it goes from there.”

“All right. Sounds good.”

They made arrangements while they finished their drinks. And then Tailgate took the other's hand. “Thank you for considering me,” he said with as much charm as he could muster.

“Thank you for considering working for us,” said the mech, smiling his oily smile.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	59. Chapter 59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tailgate and Hot Zone are taken to their 'job interview' in West Kaon.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate and Hot Zone stood waiting at the meeting point, and just past the appointed time the purple and dull yellow mech arrived in small taxi-shuttle. “Get in,” he called, purple optics bright.

Tailgate and Hot Zone immediately did, making themselves comfortable on the bench across from their host, who immediately signaled for a take off. 

“Well, I'm Swindle,” said the mech, introducing himself as the shuttle climbed into the airspace above Kaon. “Co-owner of the Foundry Street Tavern.”

“Swindle,” Tailgate repeated. What was it with brothel owners and their unfortunate names? “Well I'm Tailgate and this is my friend Hot Zone. We sometimes partner up when a client's wanting a couple of minibots.”

“I see. Used to working together.”

“And we're happy to partner up as needed,” added Hot Zone.

“Unlikely, given our clientele, but that's good to know,” said Swindle. “Anyway, we'll meet up with my partner Brawl for your interview, and then if we like you, we'll offer you contracts.”

“Sounds good,” said Tailgate, very hopeful that this Swindle and Brawl would like them.

The taxi soon came down in West Kaon, identified by the smokestacks and broken walls of the factories. Tailgate looked about on disembarking, somehow hoping for a glimpse of Swerve. He'd still had no word of the mech's survival. Maybe they'd not split on the best of terms but he still loved his oldest friend and while he had worried about him before, he had fretted over him ever since the bombings.

Swindle paid the pilot, and then he went to a keypad next to a large industrial-looking door. “We don't open for five more cycles so it'll be quiet inside. Once we open there's a quiet cycle and then things get busy when the day shift lets out at the munitions plants. Things pick up even more after the straddle-shift lets out.” He opened the door and went into a dark, musty establishment, poorly lit by a couple of skylights at the front and a few dim solar-strings over what appeared to be a bar counter. A smallish white and orange mech was fussing behind the bar while a far larger mech painted in dingy colors sat at a table with several business-work datapads. He looked up as Swindle and the two minibots approached. “New prospects?” he asked.

“Yep. This is Hot Zone, and this is Tailgate,” Swindle said indicating each respectively.

The big mech, a war-build, but apparently not one of Megatron's, looked the new arrivals up and down with a bit more interest now. “Well don't you two look nice,” he said in a tone that Tailgate was unsure whether amusement or condescension colored it.

Tailgate had spent a lot of time cleaning and polishing himself the previous night, and suddenly felt a little awkward about it. Had he gone too heavily on the wax? Or was the shade of his touch-up paint off?

“This is my business partner Brawl, by the way,” came the introductions. “And that's Slinger behind the bar.”

“Nice to meet you,” nodded the war-build. The white and orange mech waved.

“Thank you,” both minibots said in unison.

“Aww, aren't you two cute now...” said Brawl.

“So, can you put the books aside for a bit and come help with the interview?” asked Swindle. 

The big mech grinned and rose. “You know I love helping with the interviews.” He reached out and ran his hand over the tags strung around Tailgate's upper arm, setting them to jingling.

“Slinger, we're going upstairs for a bit,” Swindle called to the mech behind the bar, who was obviously their bartender.

“Sure thing. Four point seven cycles to opening,” he called back.

Tailgate and Hot Zone followed Swindle into a back hall, then up a flight of stairs, through a locked door, and through a second locked door into a berthroom. “Brawl and I live here,” explained Swindle. “Makes it very convenient.”

“I see. Are you two conjunxes?” Hot Zone asked.

Swindle laughed.

Brawl came in behind them and shut the door. “Just businesss partners.” And then he looked Tailgate over again. “Can I have the red one first?” he asked.

“You may have him first. He's very pretty, isn't he?”

For a second time Brawl reached out to touch the minibot, this time stroking his big hand over the flat of Tailgate's head. “You are very pretty,” he agreed. “Now get on the bed and open both your panels. You too... whatever your name was.”

“Hot Zone,” Swindle reminded.

“Excuse me?” Hot Zone asked. He took Tailgate's hand, holding him back from the berth. “I thought we were being interviewed for a job. Not being hired. But we can do that. We're both free for the rest of the day.”

Swindle laughed. “This is an interview,” he assured them. “Gotta see if you can take a spike, little guy. We can't have our clients complaining that our workers are too tight to be comfortable.”

“Of course I can take a spike,” said Hot Zone, his tone of voice bordering on indignant. “I've been working the streets of Overdock nearly five vorns. Tailgate here's worked the streets and he worked in a pleasure house in Uravan Bridges for almost as long. We can both take a spike. Large ones even.”

“Hot Zone... easy...” Tailgate whispered in caution.

“Well get on the berth and prove it,” huffed Brawl.

Tailgate took a step forward but Hot Zone held him back, but that didn't stop him from talking. “Look, I'm not trying to be difficult, but we've not seen any of your establishment besides the bar. We don't know if the job is for real or if you're trying to scam us into a free frag. That sort of thing does happen.”

Swindle laughed. “So I guess if we want a proper interview, we'll have to pay you.”

“Hot Zone...” Tailgate whined quietly. “Don't loose this opportunity for us.”

Swindle reached into a pocket and pulled out two five-hundred credit chips. “Here,” he said, handing one each to the minibots. “Now show us what you've got,” he said, the oily smile flashing again. “If we like you, consider it a hiring bonus. If we don't, you have one klik to take the money and run before I send Brawl to get it back.”

Brawl chuckled ominously, and the two minibots climbed onto the berth.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Accepted for employment in West Kaon, Tailgate prepares to leave Overdock once more. Only there is no joy to leaving as with the last time.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Another taxi-shuttle took Tailgate and Hot Zone back to Overdock. “Oh my gosh. Steady work!” Tailgate squeaked excitedly, holding Hot Zone's hand. “This will be so much better than going out there trying to find someone every night.”

Hot Zone nodded. “The place isn't fancy, but I suppose it will do. It will still be better than clanging some mech down an alley off of Seventh Cycle Street.”

“Odd that we're just paid a wage and a commission, though.”

“I guess things work better that way in West Kaon. Swindle said that the workers are at least paid regularly so we'll get steady business.”

The taxi dropped down and the two minibots hurried out. “Swindle contracted me to pick you two up here tomorrow,” said the pilot. “I'll be here then, this spot, so don't be late.”

“See you both tomorrow!” called Hot Zone, taking off up the street.

Tailgate waved and headed down an alley that would lead to the dingy apartment he'd been sharing nearby with a waiter and a hotel worker. He'd have one day to get things in order before moving on to this next step in his life. Moments later, home for the last time, he unlocked his safe-crate and began packing his few possessions into it. He'd have a new place now, and even if it wasn't big, it was somewhere. And he'd be close to Hot Zone at least.

Nowhere would ever be as nice as Cyclonus' apartment or the House of Red Curtains. He'd led a charmed life for a while. The worst he'd endured had been the work camp. There hadn't even been real buildings there—just tarps slung atop the walls of what had once been some sort of cargo storage partitions. He and Swerve had recharged on bare slatwork cots with a thermal blanket over them to keep the dust and chill off.

His life so far had been a long, bumpy road that always seemed to take uncomfortable twists and diversions into rough terrain right when he was settling into something good.

Swindle would look after him now, giving him a place to stay and securing his employment. Though part of his wage would be garnished for rent, a daily ration of fuel was included. And quite conveniently he could purchase supplies on credit at the small shop next door apparently—the shop also run by Swindle and Brawl. Fuel and oil and other drinks were available likewise at the bar, and the prostitutes were encouraged to make use of it.

Tailgate finished arranging his cleaning and painting supplies into his crate, leaving but one thing. The pillow... Cyclonus' pillow. He'd taken it with him when leaving the House of Red Curtains. It had been his pillow since then, where he rested his helm at night and still imagined he could catch the warrior's scent deep in the fibers. On difficult nights he cradled it to his chest, reviewing old memory files of time spent in Cyclonus' arms.

Trying not to cry, he stuffed the pillow into the top of the crate before closing and locking it. He should take a walk around Overdock after this... maybe even pick up one last customer. A poignant goodbye to the cold streets.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	61. Chapter 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things aren't looking too good as Tailgate and Hot Zone are taken to their 'rooms' to begin their first shift as pleasurebots in West Kaon.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“All right, screwbots. One breem to opening. Get yourselves lubricated,” rumbled Brawl loudly.

From behind the dingy curtains that lined most of the basement room came clicks and exasperated sighs and sounds Tailgate could not quite identify.

Brawl looked down at the two minibots he'd just brought downstairs. “Hot Zone. You've got room number five. Tailgate, you're in number two.” He stepped forward to the curtain painted with a number five and held it open. “There 'ya go. There's a can of foam lubricant there on the shelf. I'd say inject about a third of it into your valve to start with, and use the rest as you need. You only get one can a shift though, so go easy on it. If you need more, you'll have to buy your own.”

“I lubricate pretty well, actually,” said Hot Zone proudly.

Brawl snorted. “Fine. Whatever you want.”

Hot Zone went into the room, which wasn't much of a room—more of a space separated from the other spaces by three pockmarked walls and a curtain. There wasn't a proper berth. Instead a mattress with what seemed an industrial grade cover had been laid out on the floor with one pillow and no covers or blankets. A single dim light illuminated the small area. A small shelf set halfway upon one wall held a can of cheap foam lubricant and a small cube of high-grade. His crate of belongings was there, thankfully still locked.

“I'll be working here?” questioned Hot Zone, somewhat put off by the seedy appearance of the 'room.' It made the Overdock Lodger look luxurious and clean by comparison.

“Yep. And be sure you drink your energon now, or else tuck it away. The customers will help themselves otherwise.”

“I see,” Hot Zone sighed.

“Yeah, so get yourself ready. First mechs will be in here in pretty short order. And they always go for the new screwbots first.” He turned to Tailgate, who was peering in at Hot Zone. “C'mon little guy. You need to get ready too.”

Brawl guided him to the cubicle with the glyph for 'two' drawn upon it. Tailgate went in obediently as Brawl held open the curtain. The room looked just like the one Hot Zone had been given, except that at some point it had been painted a miserable shade of green. “Ya' heard what I told your friend? 'Bout lubing up and drinking your energon?”

“Yes,” said Tailgate dejectedly. Whatever had he gotten them into? Everything was telling him that this wasn't going to be anything like what he'd known of house work. As had been explained, they'd simply have to wait around in their rooms downstairs until Brawl brought their clients in. 

And everything was as explained. Shortly after Brawl had put Tailgate in his room, the hallway lights dimmed. Soon after he heard voices at the bottom of the stairs. Within half a breem Brawl was opening the curtain once more. “Here ya' go. Be nice to him. It's his first night here.”

The mech, his features barely discernible in the poor light, was moving right to the mattress where Tailgate sat waiting anxiously. “I'll give him a good warming up for you.”

“You only purchased a third of a cycle. I doubt you'll get him that warmed up,” Brawl huffed bemusedly

Huge hands seized Tailgate and immediately began groping for his valve. Tailgate squeaked in surprise, and began squirming as fingers started to paw at his modesty panel.

“Well at what Swindle charges for new merchandise, I couldn't afford more than that,” the mech complained.

“Whatever. Have fun.” Brawl left the room and went to meet the next customer waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	62. Chapter 62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's survived his first shift in West Kaon, but Tailgate has never felt more used and filthy in his entire life.

-o-o-o-o-o-

When the shift was finally over, Tailgate hurriedly found Hot Zone and threw his arms around him. The other minibot just lay there on his mattress, optic wash trickling from the sides of his eyes and running down to soak into the already soaked mattress cover. And for a while the two just lay there quietly crying, their arms clutching at each other. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Hot Zone. I didn't know it was going to be like this,” Tailgate sobbed.

Hot Zone wouldn't or possibly couldn't even respond.

After a while Brawl came into Hot Zone's cubicle. “Here's a clean berth cover for you,” he said, setting the folded cloth at the foot of the mattress. “Just leave the dirty one outside of your room. And there's a clean one in your room, Tailgate, but don't expect me to change it for you. Swindle will be by shortly with your pay. And the bar's still open so you can get a drink. But don't come upstairs without washing first. Don't need you dripping that mess all over the bar.”

“Sure,” said Hot Zone numbly.

“Where do we wash at?” asked Tailgate. A hot shower would be really, really nice at this point.

“There's a washrack through the door under the stairs and down the hall. Go easy on the hot water. You have to share with everyone.”

Swindle was in a breem after Brawl departed. “Nice job you two. You made some good money tonight.” He counted out credits to each of them—a small wage and an even smaller commission for each mech. The money was comparable to a good payday. But they'd made less per mech and made up for it in volume. “Yeah, they always go for the new 'bots first. When you've been here a while the work will get a bit easier. Anyway. Go clean up and get yourselves upstairs for a drink or two if you want. Slinger closes the bar in two cycles though so don't linger too long if you do want a drink.”

Tailgate managed to get to his feet. He was hurting in so many ways.

“And you can't go home with any of the customers upstairs. If they try to take you out, they're just looking for a free frag. You're welcome to bring them back down here though. The prices are the same as during duty hours. So is your cut. And hey...” He grinned wickedly at the two. “Good to have you two on my crew.”

Swindle left, and Hot Zone went back to staring at the ceiling. Tailgate could not remember a night he'd had more mechs in his valve or on his spike. Not even that seeker squadron party at the House of Red Curtains had left him feeling as used and filthy. He'd simply become a receptacle for spikes and a warm fill for a valve. It didn't matter how cute or how talented or how many positions he knew. There was no entertainment involved. No charm to be worked or wielded. He was just there to provide relief for the working class of West Kaon. All that mattered was how quickly he could connect and get the customer to overload. Most were there only a half cycle. If a mech overstayed his purchased time, Brawl would lumber in, demanding either more money or that the customer pull out and get out.

Tailgate tucked away his earnings and then did the same for Hot Zone. “C'mon. Let's go find that washrack. You'll feel a lot better after you clean up. I'll feel a lot better I know. Maybe then a drink. That high-grade wore off long ago. And hey, we have some money now! I feel rich for a change.”

“Sure. Whatever,” mumbled Hot Zone.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	63. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swindle does at least provide some services for the whores working in his basement.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Hands gently prodded at Tailgate, waking him from deep recharge.

“Hot Zone, please. I'm too drunk to want any more high-grade right now,” Tailgate moaned. “Just let me sleep it off.”

“Tough night?” an unfamiliar voice chuckled.

Tailgate onlined his optics to find a dark green mech kneeling on the mattress beside him, an orange visor glowing brightly over his optics. The mech put a hand on Tailgate's shoulder. “Would you mind opening for me? I'm not familiar with your frame-type and it will save me a little time,” asked the stranger in a friendly tone of voice.

Tailgate, still a bit bleary from just waking, fumbled against the mattress. “Open for you? Right.” His array snapped open. “Wait. Open? Did the shift start already? Why didn't anyone wake me?” He rose to his knees and tried to get past the green mech to the shelf. “Let me just lube up a bit and I'll be ready.” He pawed at the shelf, uncoordinated hands searching the space Brawl always left his cube of high-grade and can of foam lubricant. “What? It's not here. Did someone steal them?” He began calling for Brawl, who came in within moments. “Where's my cube and my lubricant? I can't get through a shift without them,” he demanded. He'd been at work in this miserable place every night for about an orn now and had come to realize just how valuable those two things were.

“I haven't brought them in yet,” Brawl huffed.

“Why not? You've sent in a customer and I'm not ready. And why didn't you wake me?”

“A customer?” Brawl looked at the dark green mech still sitting on the mattress, and then suddenly burst out in raucous laughter. “That's not a customer. That's the doctor Swindle hires to come check you screwbots for viruses and injuries. You've still got four cycles before opening.” Still laughing, Brawl left the room.

Tailgate looked back at the other mech, realization dawning upon him.

“I guess they didn't tell you I'd be coming in today,” the doctor said in his kindly tone.

Suddenly Tailgate felt rather embarrassed. And when he realized that his particulars were open and out on display he wanted to die. How could he have missed the medical work-case sitting next to the green mech on the berth? Or the medical service emblems on his shoulders? “I'm sorry,” he squeaked, quickly closing up. “You asked me to open and I...”

“It's quite all right. Again, I guess they didn't tell you that I'd be in to look you over today,” he said calmly, cutting off Tailgate's explanation.

“No, they didn't.”

The doctor patted the berth beside him. “Now come and sit down or lie down. And open your medical access port for me please.”

Feeling somewhat relieved and much less groggy, Tailgate sat down and the doctor connected him to the diagnostic computer in the bottom of the medical work-case. He was used to the scanning. The licensing authorities in Overdock required it with every license renewal. The House of Red Curtains had required it every deca-cycle.

“What's your name, little guy?” the doctor asked.

“Tailgate.”

“Of...”

“Of Rivets Field. But some records have me down as being from Pescus Hex because I was at the academy there for a while.”

“Cute name. Swindle told me he had a couple of new mechs down here. Anyway, I'll enter you into my files now, Tailgate of Rivets Field. The scanning will take just a little longer than usual since I'll be taking baseline readings off of your systems.”

Tailgate continued to watch as the doctor ejected the work-board from the case and began tapping away at the keys. While the doctor was primarily dark green there were some contrasting orange areas on his frame, and oddly there were several unpainted areas on his chest and shoulders. They weren't so much as unpainted, but more that the paint had been removed from them as if he'd been attacked with a sander or a burnisher. The metal beneath wasn't exactly smooth.

“What happened to your chest?” Tailgate asked eventually, unable to restrain his curiosity. He pointed at one of the shiny spots.

The doctor looked at where Tailgate was pointing. “Oh, that.” The cheerful tone he'd used earlier faded away. “My owner did that. He was afraid I'd be attacked if he let me out with my Autobot insignia. And while I let him remove them, I wouldn't let him repaint me.”

“You're an Autobot?” Tailgate gasped, cringing away, wanting to tear the diagnostic cables from his ports. He was being probed by an Autobot. The enemy.

“I was captured in the assault on Luna-Three. Since I was not a warrior they brought me to Kaon instead of executing me or sending me to prison, and then put me up for sale.”

“You're a slave?”

The mech nodded.

“But you're here. You're... working.”

The doctor nodded. “My owner sells my services as a doctor. I'm sure he's already made back three times what he paid for me.”

“But you're an Autobot. People trust you enough to let them work on them?”

The mech made something of a sad sighing noise. “There are few doctors left in West Kaon. An injured or sick mech will take what he can get.”

“I see.”

“And it's not like I'm contributing much to the Decepticon cause by fixing bent struts and repressurizing hydraulics for civilians in Kaon. And I'm certainly not doing anything for the cause by scanning prostitutes for viruses and resetting calipers after a rough client.” He gave Tailgate a smile. “Looks like you're clear though. Anything you want looked at while I'm here?”

“I think I'm fine.”

“Hip struts doing all right?”

Tailgate nodded.

“Valve lining holding up?”

Tailgate nodded again.

“All right. Just let me know if there's ever anything that needs some attention. That's what I'm here for.” The doctor began detaching the cables connecting Tailgate to his computer. “In that case I'll be moving on. I've got four more of you to look over. And you can get a bit more recharge before work.”

Tailgate lay back down as the doctor left and listened as he moved on to the next room, if their little cells could even be called rooms. An Autobot slave working in West Kaon? He wasn't exactly sure what to make of it. The Autobot had been as polite and professional as Tachyon, the doctor who looked after the boarders in the House of Red Curtains, had been. And it sounded as if Swindle had been employing him for quite some time. Yes, there probably was little to be gained by sabotaging a few whores that serviced the mechs at the various industrial plants in West Kaon.

He listened as the doctor woke up and hooked up to the femme in room three. He'd still not gotten to know either of the femmes. They'd kept to themselves, actually avoiding the others. He'd seen and talked briefly with the pale brown grounder named Sandtrap, and he and Hot Zone had talked at length with Telebyte, a battered, broken down communications mech who'd been badly injured in battle with the Autobots. The Decepticons had repaired him—sort of—before deciding him not worth keeping and discharging him from duty. At least his valve and mouth were still operational and his one hand was surprisingly good for stroking a mech to overload. He wasn't pretty; Swindle charged less for his services. But he found plenty of work servicing mechs who valued a cheap frag over the appearance of the mech providing it.

Tailgate decided he'd slept enough and went to the washracks for a hot shower. Maybe after that he'd decide he could use a nap. Or perhaps he'd see if Hot Zone wanted to cuddle for comfort after being checked on by the doctor. But inevitably, the long shift spent sprawled on his back or bent up awkwardly on all fours awaited.

-o-o-o-o-o-


End file.
